


The Hot Sequel

by ChutJeDors



Series: The Hot Series [3]
Category: The Beatles
Genre: ALSO GEORGE IS A BiTCH, AND there's gay porn, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone's gay, George., Kissing, M/M, Masturbating, Modern AU, Sex, Swearing, and a bit more sex, no more heterosex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChutJeDors/pseuds/ChutJeDors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul and John are a couple. But not gay. George and Ringo sleep, fuck and spend all their time together. But they're not a couple. They're gay. Paul and John face a dilemma called "Tell The Parents". They might manage just fine or die trying. But why is Paul thinking about having sex with John all the time? WHO would have SEX with their BOYFRIEND?? Such thoughts are surely inappropriate. Paul must do something. George is confused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. George Has Brainwashed Paul

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to the [Hot Mechanic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7235722?view_full_work=true). Originally posted in Livejournal in 2015.
> 
> The whole shit is betaed by Anna who is an angel and has kicked my arse when it's been difficult to write. The motivation to put these things up here and overally be a productive person comes from Becca, who is also my speed-line beta (like, literally. I don't think she ever sleeps). Thank you, Anna and Becca. Without you there would not be any stories i swear

  
  
_Click._  
  
  
  
_Click._  
  
  
  
_Click._  
  
“JESUS!!!”  
  
Paul threw his laptop on the other side of the bed and crawled up against the headboard, wrapping his arms around himself protectively. No. This had not been a good idea. Certainly not. He shouldn’t have, not in a million years. He would never, ever, EVER go there again.  
  
It was pathetic, really, how he was becoming obsessed with this thing. It was awfully stupid and he should have never even started thinking about it in the first place. But what can you do when your best friend just comes and throws that kind of information in your face??? Just ignore it??? Paul was a human after all, and as the Doctor always said, the humans were curious beings.  
  
**_“Ye got a fuckin’ **fandom** there! A community on Livejournal! Full of writers that do their best to give the world the **best** porn with characters called Paul McCartney and John Lennon!”_**  
  
God, those words had haunted him since then. He had tried to avoid thinking of George's meaningless gibberish as well as he could. And for his credit, he had managed in the beginning. He had tried to forget this certain piece of his past and had gone on with his life. He had snatched a job from a grocery store in the beginning of April and he was still somewhat motivated to get up in the morning and go earn the food he ate. He had also started writing a blog and so far everybody had loved his entries; the way he talked about his life and about the things that happened everyday was hilarious. He had got into a stable relationship with John where they both were happy as ever, at least he thought so. He had got used to George and Ringo sometimes fucking in the living room in the middle of a day. He had also got used to accidentally walking in on them from time to time.  
  
But, in the end, he hadn’t been able to run from the _Words_. He had started thinking of them every day that went by. His curiosity had got too much and to his horror he wasn’t able to take it anymore. He had to know.  
  
So he had gone and written his and John’s names on Google, found a tag with them in it on tumblr and had clicked on it.  
  
...  
  
Well, he had to admit that the _very_ pornographic piece of art was impressively well done. How had the person even managed to get their faces there too? It was as if Paul was looking at an actual photo.  
  
NO. He was NOT supposed to look at it, even if it was on the other side of the bed. He was supposed to take his computer, close the window and noT SCROLL DOWN TO SEE MORE. CHRIST.  
  
He threw the laptop away again and let out huffing sounds, probably sounding like he was giving birth. No. Nonono. No no no no no.  
  
NO. HE WAS NOT GOING TO GO ANY LOWER.  
  
He used his pinkie to scroll down, his arm stretched and his body as far from the laptop as it could.  
  
He felt like throwing up any minute now, but he just couldn’t stop.  
  
He prayed to all the gods of all the religions that had ever existed that John wouldn’t come home just... _yet_.

***~**~***

John was on his way home after a tiring day at work. Not tiring because of the work itself; tiring because of his BOSS. Jeff was great and one of John’s best friend’s, but sometimes he just managed to get on his nerves. Like, really, _get on his nerves._  
  
_”Hey John, I got a phone call from George yesterday evening!”_  
  
_“Well, that’s great. What’d he say?”  
  
“He also sent me a photo of you and Paul in the middle of it!”  
  
“...In the middle of what.”  
  
“FUCKING.”  
  
“Jeff!!! Oh, for fuck’s sake, George...”  
  
“Take it easy, lover boy, and admit that everyone in the city ships you two.”  
  
“What’s there left shipping!? We’re already together!!!”  
  
“But no anal sex? Tsk-tsk.”_  
  
At that point John decided to have his well-earned retirement for the day. When he had heard some time ago (before Paul came into the picture) that Jeff and George knew each other, he had been terrified. And for a good reason too, as had been proven many times. Jeff was good at heart, but he was a bit crazy. And... Well not stupid but something that almost touched the word. He was too interested in John’s sex life. And. Dear. God. He. Was. _Annoying_.  
  
He sighed deeply and reached out for his keys, waiting eagerly to lie down a bit without things to do or places to be. Maybe have Paul cuddle with him, which was always a big bonus for his peaceful evening. Maybe, and just _maybe_ he could even have George and Ringo somewhere else, so that he and Paul could have some safe private time. With George and his iPhone around you never knew when you got filmed and when not.  
  
Sometimes John suspected that the lad had installed spy cameras into the house, but he wasn’t sure. At least he hadn’t found anything in his room.  
  
He opened the door and stepped inside with a huge sigh of relief that came from just being _home_ at last. He heard no sounds, which was a good thing. At least that meant that George and Ringo weren’t engaged in some kind of an _act_ of _something_.  
  
He went into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water and drank it in silence. It was really weird, actually, that _no one_ appeared to be home. Of course Paul could have left, to go somewhere, but why would he? Why when he had the whole day to do something on his own. Evenings always meant time together.  
  
He placed the glass on the kitchen table and headed for the bedroom, ready to strip down from his working clothes and lie down for a while before going to prepare something to eat. He got to the door, turned the knob and opened it.  
  
Paul throwing his laptop on the other side of the room with pink cheeks and open jeans was not something he had expected.  
  
“Uh,” John started and watched with hidden amusement Paul squirm backwards until he fell down on the floor (on top of a pile of smelly clothes). “Hi?”  
  
“Y-yeah. Hi. I. I, uh. I was just. I mean, I wasn’t. I didn’t. No!” Paul stammered, his cheeks now flaming red. John laughed and leaned on the doorway.  
  
“You were just having a wank.”  
  
“NO! Maybe...” Paul breathed like he was going to hyperventilate and John raised his eyebrows. Sometimes, he admitted, he had to seriously question his boyfriend. But all of Paul’s clumsy embarrassing stutters and acts only made John fall harder into his feelings he had for the idiot.  
  
“Why would you have a wank when you knew I’d come home any minute?” John asked and followed Paul with his eyes when the dark-haired man started crawling over the clothes, muttering ‘I won’t ever again’ and ‘Why in the first place’ and just simply ‘Why’ over and over again. Finally Paul ended up in front of John, still on the ground when he moaned and rolled over on his back.  
  
“Finish me off,” he commanded and John started laughing.  
  
“Sorry, I’m too tired to even lift a hand,” he answered and hopped over Paul and some clothes to get on the bed. He threw himself onto it with a groan of sheer exhaustion, not bothering to even take off his glasses.  
  
“You just fuckin’ walked through the room!” Paul’s voice came from the floor and John couldn’t help it. He broke into a fit of hysteric laughter and soon found that he was too tired to do that, even.  
  
“I am too TIRED!” he managed to breath out and Paul huffed.  
  
“Yeah, sure.”  
  
And then Paul was suddenly hovering over him, examining his face with care. John blinked and then closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose.  
  
He felt Paul remove his glasses and he smiled faintly when a pair of lips gently touched the skin between his eyebrows. Fingers brushed against his forehead, sweeping the strands of hair away from there, giving Paul’s lips access to the skin. The bed squeaked when Paul’s weight moved on it, his legs on both sides of John.  
  
John opened his eyes after Paul had kissed his eyelids and smiled tenderly at the younger man on top of him. Paul grinned back and his eyes held a hopeful glint.  
  
“Pretty please?” he asked and tilted his head. John sighed defiantly and shrugged (as well as he could anyway).  
  
“Okay. But only if you make the food.”  
  
“Chinese?”  
  
“If you pay.”  
  
“Deal. Now get on with it.”  
  
John rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile. He forced the muscles, which felt dead, into action and lifted his hand up, sneaking his fingers on the back of Paul’s neck. He didn’t need to pull much though; Paul was already leaning down with a victorious smile on his face that John decided to ignore. He was the real winner anyway, not having to cook or even pay for the meal.  
  
So he closed his eyes once again just as Paul’s nose bumped against his, making them both giggle. And then, naturally, without any hesitation, their lips met and Paul let out a tiny satisfied moan. John smiled before slowly tracing his tongue against Paul’s upper lip, sucking the lower one for a while. Paul then took a strong hold of his shoulders and rolled them over in a familiar pattern. The amount of times they’d done this was actually ridiculous.  
  
John let his hands roam over Paul’s upper body, his chest, his arms, all the while keeping his mouth against the younger man’s. Paul had his hands on his backside, slowly giving it a massage whilst doing his best of giving John the best kiss of his life. The way they kissed always gave John weak knees; it just simply took his breath away, leaving nothing inside him but just pure passion and _love_.  
  
Because that’s what he felt whenever he saw Paul after a day at work, smiling up at him with eyes that showed him being happy with John there. Whenever he woke up at nights and saw Paul breathing next to him, his face calm and without worries. Whenever he met Paul’s eyes anywhere in the flat, both grinning at each other. He felt love and he wasn’t sure how to react to this feeling that was so powerful it had a stronger grip on him that Cynthia had ever had.  
  
One thing was sure though; this feeling was here to stay. John had never been that kind of a foolish person who believed in love that lasted forever. He knew that the feeling he had now for Paul might turn into something else in a few years; in a few months even, if something went really wrong. But he also knew that if the love was right, it would last. There was enough proof for that, if not in John's life, then in some others. And John was hopeful that this feeling was that kind of love that would last. Not wanting to be too sappy or anything, but he was ninety-eight percent sure that it would be so. The two percents were if Paul actually told one day that he actually liked Nicholas Cage better than Tom Cruise. John would never forgive that.  
  
So, one thing was sure. He was in love with Paul. How to actually come _clean_ with it was more difficult, because he had no idea how to _tell_ Paul he loved him. He didn't know how he wanted to do it. During one of their sex sessions? On a romantic dinner? While cuddling on the bed and eating popcorns? Or just when it would be too hard to hold it back anymore?  
  
John thought he'd wait until Paul said it. That would be ten times easier for him; that's how it had been with Cynthia too. She had said 'I love you' when they had kissed in a park in Liverpool under the moonlight. It had been the most sugary moment in John's life and it still gave him toothache to even think about it. He didn't think he could handle another confession like that. But, maybe Paul knew that John wasn't really into that. And he would know the right time as well. And when he would say it, John would be there with the words ready on his tongue, without hesitation.  
  
He really did love Paul more than he had loved anyone.  
  
John slowly pushed his hands inside Paul’s jeans, the zip already open, making it easier for him. He was sure that his exhausted confused brain wouldn’t otherwise be able to figure out how to pull the trousers down.  
  
_’Sad, ain’t it though,’_ he thought to himself when Paul lifted his legs to wrap them around John’s lower back and muttered something of how the other should hurry up. This movement made John's task of removing the younger man's clothes slightly more difficult. So he shook Paul's legs away and continued.  
  
“What did you even wank for???” he asked, removing Paul’s underwear in one shift movement. Then he took a hold of Paul’s dick and started pumping quite business-like. He was hungry.  
  
“None of... None of your business!” Paul moaned and wrapped his arms around John’s neck. John arched his eyebrows and yanked a bit faster, emitting all kinds of strange sounds from his boyfriend.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this horny in a long time,” he stated, wonder in his voice. Whatever it had been that Paul had watched it was ten times more powerful than just normal heterosexual fucking.  
  
He lowered his head and let his lips touch the side of Paul’s head, all the while the younger man’s hips twitching. John let his breath ghost over Paul’s ear few times, making the other shudder, before he let the words out silently and slowly.  
  
“Was it gay porn?”  
  
“John!!!” Paul shouted and placed his arms on John’s chest, now maybe trying to push him away. But John lowered his chest and let it touch Paul’s own, imprisoning the lad’s hands between their bodies.  
  
“C’mon,” he smiled and moved his lips to Paul’s neck, sucking on it lightly; making Paul stretch his head back and offer his throat to him. “Just tell me.” His hand worked on Paul’s shaft, coaxing him to admit the truth.  
  
“No! Oh, I fucking _hate_ you!” Paul growled and managed to free his hands, lifting them up to rest on John’s sides. John knew that at this point, Paul was unable to do anything. The orgasm was so close, but hadn’t _quite_ arrived yet. This was the moment when Paul would be so desperate to get release that he would be ready to do anything.  
  
John had actually learnt a lot about Paul during sex. Mainly because when the Truthful Moment –as he called it- came, he always used to ask something from him. Things that he wouldn’t otherwise get to know. For example, how many girls Paul had had before John (6). Or did he have any kinky fetishes about sex (he was quite fond of his nipples getting sucked)(that wasn't, however, the kinkiest stuff Paul had in his head). Or how often did he get aroused in the middle of the day while thinking of John and him and the bed (countless times, really, but about four of them were emergencies). That kind of things.  
  
“Paauul,” he called gently and pressed few tiny kisses on Paul’s neck while increasing the speed of his fist even more. Paul let out a shout that was close to be described as a howl and his fingers clutched John with a bruising grip.  
  
“NO!” he yelled from the top of his lungs, face flaming red and then he was coming into John’s hand, hugging the older man against him.  
  
John was totally confused. The Truthful Moment had _never_ let him down. But even now when he was lying on top of Paul, head against the man's neck, hand covered in his cum, there were no words from his boyfriend. Paul was mute as a fish, only holding John in his arms without moving.  
  
“Okay,” John breathed then, “Food.”  
  
“Yeah,” Paul muttered hoarsely, shifted and John rolled off him, staring at his cum-covered hand with slight disgust.  
  
“Ew. I think I’ll take a shower while you go get the Chinese.”  
  
“I should be the one needing a shower,” Paul’s smiled faintly and John grinned at him, hoping to get a same kind of an expression in exchange.  
  
“Or you could call for the food and then we go together.”  
  
Paul’s lips widened into a huge grin and suddenly he was on his feet, struggling with his jeans that were pooled in his ankles to get out his iPhone.  
  
“Deal,” he just giggled then before hopping over the clothes to the door and disappearing into the hallway butt-naked to search for the number of the Chinese restaurant.  
  
John sat up on the bed, holding his hand in front of him awkwardly and stared at the slightly opened door. Then he turned his gaze on the white creamy stuff in his fingers and narrowed his eyes. What would he do with it? He needed to get rid of it in order to take off his clothes.  
  
He swallowed down a lump and blinked.  
  
Maybe he could—  
  
He shuddered at the idea and felt goosebumps break through his skin. No, there was no way he could ever... It would be basically the same thing as giving Paul a blowjob! And there was no way that he, or _Paul_ would be okay with that!  
  
He blinked again and turned his hand a bit, getting really uncomfortable. Maybe he should just go into the shower already. And wash off the cum. Yeah.  
  
But he couldn't get his shirt off with the _spunk_ of his _boyfriend_ that he had in his _hand_ after a _handjob_ he had given!!!  
  
Somewhere he could hear his Aunt Mimi rolling around, wherever she was at the moment. Her little choirboy had become something... else.  
  
“Jo-ho-hoon,” Paul called him and he panicked. What would he do with his hand??? Why had he even had such an idea??? He had _never_ thought about it before! (‘Liiaaaaar,’ George’s voice laughed in the back of his head. He brushed it off, but not so easily than one would think.)  
  
“Yeah! Coming!” he shouted and grimaced at his words.  
  
He really was hard as a rock. Of course, because evidently he had just given a handjob to his very sexy boyfriend who could make John cream his pants just from one look. He had his hand covered with the lad’s baby juice. _Of course_ he was hard!  
  
He stared at his hand, squeezed it into a fist, feeling the squelchy material gush out through his fingers and slowly, hesitatingly brought it closer. Could he? Maybe just to ready himself. How different could it be from eating a girl anyway??? Well, of course blowing a guy differed mildly from giving head to a girl, that much John did know. But would the feeling of the _product_ in the mouth be somehow different? Besides, John loved Paul. He wanted him to feel good. Surely blowjobs felt good for the receiving end, whether it was a man or a woman giving. This would only be practice for the future, right?  
  
“Did you fall asleep?? It was me who got off, not you!” Paul’s footsteps came closer to the door and John jumped on his feet, hiding his hand (still in a fist; he thought the sticky stuff had glued his fingers together) behind his back just in time when a bush of dark hair peeped inside the room.  
  
“Not giving me up, are you?” The younger man arched his perfectly-shaped eyebrows and John gave him a wink.  
  
“ _Never_ gonna give you up,” he answered and Paul let out a hitch-pitched scream of ‘NO DON’T’ before disappearing back into the hallway, his laugh echoing in the flat.  
  
John turned his head and stared at his hand once more.  
  
Well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments make one's day perfect right?


	2. George Has Some Chinese And Sex

“Chiiii-neeeese, Paul, let me EMBRACE you,” George screamed with delight and jumped towards Paul who was sitting at the table, noodles hanging out from his mouth comically.  
  
“MMMMH,” the lad let out a terrified muffled sound that was apparently meant to be ‘no’, but unfortunately his lack of ability to form the actual word gave George free access to Paul's body.  
  
After some passionate and wet cheek kisses and an equally emotional armful of George they all sat at the table, George and Ringo quickly stealing themselves some of the food. For a while they ate in silence, George too busy eyefucking his curry chicken and Paul and John too busy eyefucking each other, but then Ringo got bored with all that and cleared his throat.  
  
“I’ve been wondering, Paul, when you were gonna tell to your parents.”  
  
“About what?” Paul asked taking a sip of his beer.  
  
“About you and John, of course.”  
  
Paul blinked and lowered the bottle to the table, staring at Ringo with a blank expression.  
  
“How about never,” he suggested and Ringo sighed. George tore his eyes away from John’s noodles (John was hugging them protectively against his chest at this point) and laid them on Paul instead.  
  
“But why won’t you? I’ve been waiting half a year for you to change your Facebook status. All the single ladies think you’re still one of them and I don’t accept that,” he glared at his best friend and Paul swallowed nervously. Earning an eyebrowful of George was never that amusing.  
  
“Well,” John started and Paul glanced at him hopefully, “I haven’t told Mimi either.”  
  
“That’s only to protect your mental and physical health,” George answered and nobody laughed. It was, unfortunately, true.  
  
“But c’mon Paul, your parents are cool. They’ll be ever so happy to welcome John into the family!” Ringo urged. This time Paul actually laughed and then shook his head.  
  
“No, my Dad’ll chop his head off. And his dick too while he’s going at it.”  
  
“That... That wouldn’t be very fun,” John whispered, staring at the table with wide eyes and his face turning slightly green.  
  
“No, it wouldn’t,” Ringo agreed and for a while they sat in silence again before George clapped his hands together and stood up, everybody’s eyes following him.  
  
“Well, that's it then for that conversation! Thanks for the food, Paul,” he winked at his friend who tried his best to ignore it. “I’m so tired that I think I’ll go straight to sleep. Anyone care to join?”  
  
Paul and John shook their heads slowly, face blank and Ringo reached out for a napkin.  
  
“Wait ten minutes and I’ll join you,” he said while wiping his mouth and giving George eyes that told maybe too much for the other couple in the room. George grinned widely, blew a kiss at John and skipped away, leaving the others into an uncomfortable silence.  
  
John took one of his chopsticks and started knocking the head of it on the table. Paul emptied his beer with one big swallow that may have gone down a bit too fast. Ringo crossed his fingers and stared at the rings he had on them. Then he sighed and leant his chin on his hands, eyeing the two of his friends, who tried to act as if they didn’t notice him watching.  
  
“Are you still happy together?” the words left Ringo’s mouth and both Paul and John looked a bit startled. They glanced at each other and then turned their eyes on Ringo, bewildered.  
  
“Of course,” John answered then, without hesitation and Paul felt something warm pool inside his chest for the deep fondness and certainty he heard in his boyfriend's voice. “Why wouldn’t we be?”  
  
“’Cos you haven’t had any fights or anythin’ like that, from what I know. I’m just wondering, are there things that are like, bottling up.”  
  
John and Paul looked at each other again and then back at Ringo, then at each other again, and at Ringo once more. Paul sighed and shook his head.  
  
“Well, I think we got nothing. I don’t know if there’s something that John isn’t telling me, but I don’t think so.”  
  
A quick flash went past in both of their minds.  
  
_THE TAG IN TUMBLR_  
  
_tHE **SPUNK**_  
  
“No, there’s nothing! We’re as happy as can be!” John said cheerfully and Paul nodded along, his cheeks turning bright red. He hoped no one would notice, but of course his luck was failing him today.  
  
“Paul.” Ringo deadpanned, “You’re blushing.”  
  
“I am not,” Paul breathed but blushed even more. John frowned and tilted his head questioningly.  
  
“You are, though,” he stated and Paul chuckled nervously.  
  
“I haven’t done anything!” he said quickly and Ringo lifted his eyebrows blankly.  
  
“So what did you do?” he asked and Paul’s breath hitched.  
  
“Nothing! I would never go there! Never again!” he gasped and then moaned, burying his head into his hands when he realised what he had said. Doing this caused him to miss the amused glance the other two people at the table exchanged.  
  
“I’m a failure, ain’t I,” he groaned and lifted his eyes to peer at John desperately, who started to laugh into his hand.  
  
“You’re quite hopeless, yes,” he giggled and caused Ringo to break into fits of laughter as well. Paul rubbed his face before joining them, he and John clinking Paul's beer bottle and John’s glass of water together. Ringo leant back in his chair for a second before standing up.  
  
“Well, I better go. Somebody’s waiting for me,” he winked and both Paul and John shuddered.  
  
“Yeah. Have fun,” John wished and Ringo hurried out of the kitchen, humming to himself with a satisfied twitch of lips and a very visible tent already forming in the front of his jeans.

***~**~***

“I don’t care what it is on your mind, if it doesn't bother our life,” John said while snuggled at Paul’s side, wrapping his arms tightly around the younger man.  
  
“It’s nothing. Really,” Paul mumbled and turned his head a bit, pressing his nose into John’s hair. “Don’t think about it.”  
  
“ _I_ am not thinking about it. But you can’t seem to get it out of your head,” John giggled and Paul huffed, starting to draw small circles on the other’s shoulder with his thumb.  
  
“Seriously, it’s nothing. Let’s sleep, eh?”  
  
“And that’s how you sneak from one subject to another and think I won’t notice.”  
  
“Jooohn,” Paul cooed making his boyfriend roll his eyes.  
  
“Okay. You’ll tell me eventually.”  
  
“That’s what you think. Sleep.”  
  
“Can’t. You gave me a boner with your bloody circles.”  
  
“Oh, bugger.”  
  
“Quite.”

***~**~***

After the mess that had been the start of their relationship, John and Paul had managed to achieve a steady and balanced relationship. Almost all the problems between them that George had caused had finally turned fine in the end; showing physical affection wasn’t a problem anymore and they had got over the awkwardness that had been there at the beginning. Now they were both satisfied with their sexual life and that was it. So far, at least.  
  
It had taken some time though, to get somewhere deeper than just shaky -later on firmer- handjobs. The first time they got totally naked caused Paul to have some kind of panic attack where he just lied under the bed and wheezed weirdly. After that it had been easier; there was nothing in their bodies that they wouldn’t have seen before anyway. There wasn’t a day when they wouldn’t do something; a quick kiss here or there, a hug every now and then, a longer snog when they thought George wasn’t there to see.  
  
Of course they were wrong about this. George was always there.  
  
But, despite all the expectations, life had become somewhat calmer in their flat. Mainly because after Ringo moved in George had remarkably decreased the amount of his one-night stands. The reason for this, they said, was that it was easier to fuck each other than hook up someone new for every night. But Paul and John had created some kind of a secret OTP of their friends and had taken a habit of rolling their eyes sarcastically and saying ‘yeah, sure’ whenever one of their flatmates brought this explanation up. Everybody knew they were together, although the couple itself didn’t admit it.  
  
George and Ringo were quite pleased with their OTP as well, but there were still things that bothered them. Of course the fact that Paul and John hadn’t had any big fights since they had started dating was a big minus. They discussed small things, naturally, but about things like:  
  
‘Could you give Creature some food?’  
  
‘No, I’m busy.’  
  
‘So am I.’  
  
‘It’s your cat.’  
  
‘Yours now as well.’  
  
‘That’s unfair.’  
  
‘No it’s not.’  
  
‘No... It really isn’t. Now, where have you put the bowl...'  
  
So not really about anything big. There didn’t seem to be anything in Paul that would have bothered John, or vice versa. And _everybody_ knew that relationships as perfect as that didn’t exist. George and Ringo’s biggest fear was that one day it all these little things would blow to the surface with an explosion that would destroy it all.  
  
So, naturally George had to do something. But he didn’t yet know what in particular. So he kept his eyes open for any information that could give him a clue.

***~**~***

Paul stared blankly at a box containing several different sorts of Twinings tea. He was supposed to put them on the shelf, but he had just come from the storage room after counting how many period pads there were in the store and his head felt a bit empty. He couldn't bring himself to stretch his back to get the tea packets from the box. All those pink expensive things that women needed in an order to keep themselves clean danced in front of his eyes and he blinked. He only had few more hours. He could do this.  
  
Suddenly his phone let out a tiny clink, informing him of a received message. He quickly snatched the iPhone from his pocket and smiled when John’s familiar name greeted him. He opened the message, making sure that his boss wasn’t anywhere close.  
  
  
  
Paul grinned and choked a laugh that was threatening to leave his lips. John had a way of improving his day even when the man wasn't there. He quickly typed the answer.

John smiled at the phone screen while mindlessly waving a cat toy in the air. The toy had a colourful feather in its head and his cat Creature went totally crazy over it. At the moment she was trying to catch it without minding that her sharp claws sometimes stuck on John’s leg, making him jump and sigh with pain. Fortunately he had got used to this, during the three years he had had Creature.  
  
It wasn’t normal for him to be home on a Monday. But last Friday Jeff slammed his hand against the table and announced that he was going to hire another worker, as both he and John were too busy all the time. John had been more than willing to agree, so Jeff gave him a free day so that he could get all the papers together and do whatever one had to do when hiring somebody new. John had no idea. Well, he didn’t have anything against free days, at least not before he realised he’d be all alone, as Paul was now working.  
  
Well, working and at the same time sending messages to John. Which John was thankful for, because otherwise he would’ve been bored out of his mind. Pleasing his cat wasn’t really the most entertaining thing in the world, even if he loved his cat.  
  
While waiting for Paul to answer he checked his Facebook from his computer that was open on the sofa next to him. When there was nothing interesting, he turned on the television to see if there was anything on. A blonde woman with too much make-up and an interestingly huge V-neck on her jumper flashed a smile at him, which made his eyes hurt.  
  
_”Do you feel unsatisfied with your sexual life? Is there something that your partner seems to be hiding? Can you be sure that they aren’t cheating you? For all these questions and more you will find the answer during the next hour, in **8 Questions About Sex**!”_  
  
John rolled his eyes and winced when Creature attacked his leg once again. No, he wasn’t unsatisfied. Yes, there were things that Paul seemed to be hiding but nothing that would have bothered John. And yes, John was quite sure that Paul wasn’t cheating him. He wouldn’t even have time for that, unless he was secretly fucking his boss, whom John knew –for a fact- to be a lesbian.  
  
_’Our life is scattered with poofs’_ , he thought to himself when the woman with the interesting neck opening eyed at him with sultry eyes. _’Both of our bosses are queer as well.’_  
  
His phone informed him of a new message, and he lost his interest in the television as fast as he had lost interest in women when Paul barged into his life.  
  
  
  
The woman was looking at John in a way that somehow made him feel molested. The camera zoomed even closer so that the interesting V-neck made it look like the hostess didn’t have anything on her. John raised his eyebrows and stared.  
  
Well, of course he stared. He was a sexually active man after all and being in a relationship didn’t prevent him from looking.  
  
_”We have here a question -quite interesting- from a male Anonymous. He asks: ‘I have been in a relationship for two years now. I am happy and I love my partner, but I feel like something is missing. I’ve been having dreams of giving head to him, but I made it clear before that I don’t want it. I know that my partner feels the same, but now I feel trapped. I’d like to try it, but I don’t know how to ask if he'd like it. I’m not even sure how to blow a man. Can I trust the guides in the Internet?’”_  
  
John frowned and lowered the toy in his hand a bit. Creature managed to catch a hold of it and when John lifted his hand, the cat followed the toy.  
  
“That’s not how you play,” John commented and Creature let out a hiss when she dropped back to the ground gracefully, only to jump against her owner’s leg.  
  
“Ouch,” the owner deadpanned, “that’s not how you play either.”  
  
He thought about Paul. He thought about how it would feel to give him head. It would certainly be an experience, right?  
  
He hadn't tasted Paul's come, chickening out in the end. He had washed it off in the kitchen, as Paul had already been in the bathroom, all the while staring at the white stuff like it would eat him. Which was ridiculous, really, because of the two of them the spunk was the one getting eaten. By John. Maybe. Or not.  
  
He wondered if giving head to Paul would be good.  
  
He shook his head, shuddering, and quickly switched off the television. He wasn’t allowed to have such thoughts. Paul wasn’t _any_ interested in that. Hell, he was basically like a holy virgin, only that he just happened to like John’s dick, but only if it stayed in his hands. He would probably have a heart attack if John asked to blow him.  
  
Not that John had any intention of asking that. No, no, never. Ew.  
  
Better to never think of it again.

***~**~***

An old Nokia phone's screen lit up in the dark room, meaning that the vibrating was going to start soon to inform of a new call. A hand grabbed the phone fast before giving it a chance to start doing any awfully loud sounds and with a glance of who was calling, Paul lifted the mobile on his ear with a tired sigh.  
  
_”Hello? Is this John?”_  
  
“Uh, no. Hi Jeff.”  
  
_“...You... You must be ... **Paul**.”_  
  
“...Yeah.” Paul raised his eyebrows at the ceiling and then turned on his side, putting his free hand on John’s shirtless stomach, just letting it rest there and feel it move with the other’s breathing.  
  
_“Oh my god. I’m talking with Paul.”_  
  
“...Yeah?”  
  
_“But how did you know it’s me???”_  
  
“Your name shows on the screen when you call.”  
  
_“...”_  
  
“...”  
  
_“Ah.”_  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
_“...”_  
  
“But, uh, you wanted to speak with John?”  
  
_“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did! Is he there?”_  
  
“Kinda. He’s sleeping so I took the call before he’d wake up. He’s always a bit cranky when groggy,” Paul shot a glance at his sleeping boyfriend and smiled softly.  
  
_“I see. Could you pass the message then?”_  
  
“Sure.”  
  
_“If he gets to work at 10 o’clock tomorrow, that’d be grand. I found a new worker and I need John to explain all the stuff, ‘cos he knows more about doing this job than me.”_  
  
“Okay, 10 o’clock, new worker, explain stuff. Not too difficult.”  
  
_“Great. And, it was pleasure to talk with you! I’ve been dying to know John’s dearie a bit!”_  
  
“Uh. Yeah, it was great. A pleasure. Yeah. Um. Well, I think I’ll go and, uh, yeah. Gotta go to sleep.”  
  
_“Great! Hopefully one day I could meet you in person too!”_  
  
“Yeah. So, um, see ye. And I’ll pass the message.”  
  
_“Bye! Hope the sex was good!”_  
  
“Wha—“  
  
The sound of disconnection shot through Paul’s ear, telling that Jeff had dialed off without much explaining his last words. Paul looked at John’s old Nokia with raised eyebrows and then glanced at John, whose peacefully sleeping form had at some point wrapped itself around Paul.  
  
Well, at least the things that John had said about his boss seemed to be true. But how did he know that they had, actually, just had sex?  
  
Paul sighed and placed John’s phone on the nightstand, switched off the light and turned a bit so that he was more comfortable in his own personal octopus’ limbs. He stared at the ceiling -that he could barely see in the dark- for a few minutes in his thoughts and then closed his eyes.  
  
He already dreaded the idea that he’d have to wake up John the next morning at 7 o’clock, so that he could give Jeff’s message before Paul himself had to leave for work. A groggy John was a cranky John, as he had already mentioned before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are REALLY WELCOME. Like, extremely so.


	3. George Has Spy Cameras

“John, this is our new guy!”  
  
John eyed the young man with curiosity. His face was finely chiselled and he looked quite sensitive and shy. But damn, he was good-looking in his black clothes and haircut that imitated the 50’s Elvis hairstyle. The auburn-haired man raised his eyebrows and glanced at Jeff before smiling widely and extending his hand.  
  
“I’m John,” he said grinning and the young man smiled faintly.  
  
“That I figured out already. My name is Stuart.”  
  
“Pleasure to meet ye,” John nodded and they shook hands. Jeff looked overly-excited and John wondered what the reason behind it was. But maybe it was just Jeff.  
  
Speaking of Jeff being Jeff, John had to exchange a few words with him.  
  
“Alright. Stuart, if you’d excuse me a bit, I got something to say to our _boss_ ,” he turned wholly towards Jeff, using all of his body language to show that the shit was going down and _fast_.  
  
“I’m listening?” Jeff smiled. The idiot didn’t have any sense of self-preservation.  
  
“If you could,” John started and took few steps towards Jeff, soon poking at his chest with his finger, using all of the two inches he had over his friend, “stop harassing my boyfriend.”  
  
“What? I only told him that it’s a pleasure to get to talk with ‘im, at last,” Jeff grinned and showed a thumb up at Stuart, who was watching them with wide eyes and a hesitant expression on his face.  
  
“ _And_ you said ‘Hope the sex was good’,” John hissed like Creature and this time Jeff laughed, not at all shaken by John’s scary appearance.  
  
“Well, was it?”  
  
“You can’t just go an’ say things like that to him! He’s sensitive!” John turned and threw his arms in the air dramatically. “I’m used to it, at least, but he _isn’t_!!!”  
  
“Bitch please, he’s been living with George for years.”  
  
John stopped and sighed. That was unfortunately true. But still, even if Paul had adopted a passive way of reacting and maybe George couldn’t affect him anymore (not that much anyway), with strangers like Jeff Paul _was_ aware of this stuff. And John had _seen_ this morning that Paul had been a bit taken-aback by Jeff’s words.  
  
“Yeah, maybe. But he’s used to George. You’re a complete stranger,” he stated turning to face his boss again, his hands on his hips.  
  
“Maybe if you brought him here one time I wouldn’t be,” Jeff said cheerfully and John shivered. No. There was no way he could do _that_. At the end of the visit either him, Paul, or both would be dead.  
  
“Sorry, but nope.”  
  
“I already know how he looks like, too. Remember those photos? They got good quality.”  
  
“Christ!” John groaned and buried his face in his hands before dragging them down towards his chin. George. Why.  
  
“But, returning to this issue of us having a new face in the shop!” Jeff almost squealed and John wondered again what was wrong with him, “John, could you explain _everything_ to him??”  
  
“Depends on if you stop talking about Paul, or George, or those photos, or my sex life, or my personal life in _general_ ,” John crossed his arms over his chest and Jeff flashed a smile.  
  
“Okay. Now, explain.”  
  
John sighed and motioned Stuart to come closer while Jeff was already walking towards the backroom, announcing that he needed coffee after such a _tiring_ and _stressful_ Monday when he was left all _alone_ doing his _paper work_ while some others just lied around _home_ , _shagging_ their _boyfriends_.  
  
John waited until he had wholly disappeared and the door closed before he closed his eyes and let out a huge breath, his shoulders relaxing. Stuart cast a hesitating glance at the backroom door before turning to him.  
  
“Uh,” he started and John straightened his back, waiting for his new colleague to continue.  
  
“Is it always like this here?” Stuart whispered urgently and John started laughing.  
  
“Yeah. Better get used to it,” he leant on a shelf containing adapters and cables. Stuart lifted his eyebrows and then grinned.  
  
“I like him anyway,” he said and then blushed faintly. “Uh, I mean, like...”  
  
“Don’t worry,” John interrupted and closed his eyes, breathing deeply through his nose and basking in the rare silence that had taken over the shop. “In this group, being gay is more like a norm than an abnormality.”  
  
Stuart laughed and nodded his head.  
  
“Sounds like it, too.”  
  
“It does, right?!” John giggled and then reached for his wallet he had in his backpack with a goofy smile on his face. “See, this is my darling. We were just talkin' about him.” He showed him a picture of him and Paul grinning at the camera, cheeks touching, hands over each other’s shoulders.  
  
“Woah. He looks perfect,” Stuart stated and John smiled tenderly at the photo, a faint happy blush creeping up on his face.  
  
“I know. He is. I still can’t believe with my luck I got someone like him.”  
  
“Well, he seems to be as happy to have you, based on this pic,” Stuart took John’s wallet into his hands and peered at the photo before smiling. Then he had a hesitant look again and he glanced at the door once more.  
  
“Do you...” he started and gave John his wallet back, whispering: “Do you think that Jeff would be bothered by a straight guy working in the shop?”  
  
John stared at him for a while before he burst out laughing cheerfully.  
  
"Oh God," he chortled, "no, of course not! He thought I was straight as well before Paul happened!"  
  
He paused for a second and then waved his hand around.  
  
"Actually, no. He didn't. He assumes everyone's at least bi. But no, he won't bother!"  
  
"Oh, okay then," Stuart chewed his lower lip and John grinned amicably. "I actually got a girlfriend. Her name's Astrid and she lives in Hamburg."  
  
"That, mate, is awesome. Internationality an' stuff. Y'know."  
  
"Yeah. Cool."  
  
For a while they subsided into a silence, but then John shook himself up and slapped Stuart in the back.  
  
“C’mon. I’ll show you everything. And you can tell me all about this girlfriend of yours!”  
  
Stuart nodded with an eager smile and John put his wallet back into his backpack, glancing at the photo for the final time, giving it an affectionate look.  
  
Yeah. He was lucky.

***~**~***

George sat on his bed, going through recordings he had on his computer. Installing the spy cameras had been a good idea indeed; he got free (though no anal) porn, saw if his friends were fighting and that way could help them sort it out _and_ he saw if one of them was doing something he wasn’t supposed to do, this meaning someone doing something that could hurt the OTP’s relationship badly. George felt like a guardian angel.  
  
Although a bit of a wicked one.  
  
At the moment he was watching one week old recordings. The day they had Chinese there had been a quick handjob, when John came home. Unfortunately George didn’t have sound, but he had become quite skilled in reading lips. So he knew the reason why they had actually had Chinese. He should embrace Paul again for giving him food _and_ new wanking material.  
  
But it wasn’t really the handjob that interested him _now_. Some other time he maybe would’ve had a wank, but now he had a bad feeling that something had happened before sex.  
  
Because Paul’s behaviour with his computer was certainly odd; first he had sat on the bed for thirty or forty minutes, sometimes making dramatic faces and gestures, and then he had taken his computer into his lap, seemingly googled something and then he threw his computer away with those same dramatic gestures as before.  
  
With the drama, there was nothing new. It was Paul after all. But afterwards it had been even more worrying. It seemed that, even though Paul was trying to stop, he had laid on the bed, scrolling down and stroking himself through his underwear, the expression on his face showing disgust, shock and feelings of Why-Am-I-Doing-This.  
  
And that was why George was in his alert-mode. Ringo had told him -and he checked the recording of the kitchen to see for himself- about Paul blushing when he had demanded if something was wrong. Both of them were sure that _something_ was wrong, but they couldn’t yet say what.  
  
Ringo had guessed that Paul might have been interested in gay porn and had taken a look and that was why he was acting like that. But George knew it wasn’t that; whatever it was, Paul hadn’t said anything to John. If it was gay porn, he could just say that yeah, he watched it and it was good. Besides, the scrolling down-movement showed that he had been on tumblr. Probably in some porn tag, but which one, George couldn’t say. He wished he had John’s skill of hacking computers so he could see Paul’s Internet history.  
  
Another thing that worried him was John’s reaction to Paul’s cum in his fingers. The man had surely wondered if he should lick his hand clean or not. But knowing John and his thoughts about oral and eating a man’s spunk, it would take some time to get to the action itself. George was also pretty sure that he was worrying about Paul’s reaction. And all that mixed, John’s hesitation and curiosity combined to Paul’s secret wanking object might cause some serious tension between the two of them.  
  
Of course it was very likely that they’d get over it by discussing it a bit and George wouldn’t be needed. But he still needed to keep an eye on them, because if a third problem joined in...  
  
He really hoped not.

***~**~***

“So how is this new guy?” Paul asked while wrapping his arms around John in the hallway. John sighed and let his forehead fall against Paul’s. He had just arrived home and Paul hurried to greet him, knowing that his boyfriend would be simply _done_.  
  
“He’s great. An artistic type, he showed me some of his drawings. I swear he’s the reborn Van Gogh or somethin’,” John muttered tiredly and hugged Paul close to him by the waist. “The only problem is Jeff. He’s unbearable.”  
  
“I understand. I couldn’t take it if there was someone like George lurking about my work too,” Paul offered a sympathetic smile and John let out a pained groan.  
  
“Thank God I got Stuart now too, to share Jeff’s personality,” he sighed again and Paul tightened his hold of him. He nuzzled his nose against John’s and John tilted his head a bit to the side, breathing in Paul’s scent for a minute before he let his lips touch Paul’s.  
  
They kissed lazily, exchanging tiny pecks for few minutes before Paul pressed his hand against John’s chest and gently started pushing him backwards, making sure that he didn’t bump into anything.  
  
They reached their bedroom door and let themselves fall apart for theamount of time that climbing over their clothes-covered floor required. Paul was the first to make it to the bed and he crawled on top of it, got into a sitting position and opened his arms to welcome John into his lap.  
  
They hugged and kissed again. Paul would have been ready for more heated and aggressive sex, but the waves of fatigue that radiated from John told that now wasn’t the time for that. Paul wasn’t even sure about getting it on at all, because it was altogether possible that John wouldn’t be able to cope with any physical acts at the moment. The younger man did prefer weekends, if not for the possibility of sleeping till noon, then at least for them being able to have sex for the whole day.  
  
He definitely preferred weekends.  
  
John let out a huge huff against Paul’s neck and then kissed it lightly, making Paul let out a soft sigh. He knew that Paul realised that he was maybe too tired to wake up his little downwards friend, but that didn’t stop him from pleasing Paul. And he got always hope that his southern buddy would feel like playing a bit after all. He just needed to _warm up_.  
  
So he got up so that his knees were on both sides of Paul’s legs and pushed the other man down on the bed, hovering over him just like Paul had a week ago. He took off his glasses and threw them over his shoulder –knowing that they would land on something soft, because of all the clothes on the floor. He let his palm cup Paul’s cheek while he leant down, pushing his other hand under his lover’s shirt, and pressed his mouth against Paul’s that was already waiting for him.  
  
He caressed the soft flesh of the younger man’s stomach and with his other hand started unbuttoning Paul’s shirt that he used for work. He was well aware that it was better to keep it clean. Paul helped John get rid off his shirt and then got to the task of undressing him in return, all the while kissing back as sloppily as John kissed him. He made sure to show him that there was no hurry; they had all the time in the world.  
  
Paul’s socks were the last ones to go and John’s movements were _almost_ desperate when he hauled them off and flung them away. Paul laughed breathlessly when he followed the lad’s actions while he himself was lying on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows, already half-erect.  
  
“So he’s an artist then?” he asked when John had finally finished and was crawling up to him, his hands sneaking up to Paul at the same time.  
  
“Yeah. He’s very sensitive though. Feels like he’d break into million pieces if you accidentally sneezed towards him,” he answered and Paul chuckled while taking a hold of John’s head, pulling it down to kiss the side of his chin.  
  
“Hmm? And he’s interested in mechanics or is he only seeking money?” he breathed while John got on top of him and pressed his hips down, his dick rubbing against Paul’s. They both gasped and John felt himself starting to harden (finally! he mentally celebrated) when Paul wrapped his legs around his back, meeting his thrusts, his hands on John’s sides.  
  
“I’m not... I’m not entirely sure yet,” John panted and his hands grabbed Paul’s bottom, bringing him harder towards him. “Guess I need to, hh, get to know him a bit.”  
  
“Yeah,” Paul’s breath puffed against his face and with a squeeze on the other’s butt, John slammed his mouth against Paul’s, forcing it open and taking whole possession over it, not caring if Paul had space to breath or not. He pushed Paul’s head deeper against the blanket with the pressure of the kiss, Paul’s hands wrapping around his neck, preventing him from pulling back even a bit.  
  
“C’mon,” Paul’s muffled moan came from somewhere and John let go of his arse, only to wrap his fingers around both of them. Paul cried out, arching his neck back, not letting go of his hold on John. This forced the older man’s head down where Paul’s neck and shoulder met, and who was John to reject this kind of an opportunity?  
  
So he bit down and regretted it only a moment after the whine Paul let out was so loud that George would surely hear it.  
  
Both of their actions slowed down, John’s hand now just holding their pricks, Paul’s hands loosely around his neck. They listened carefully and glanced at each other with a similar expression; _’Shit.’_  
  
And then there were steps and a lazy voice that spoke behind their bedroom door:  
  
_“Don’t mind me, I’ll return to the lounge but I jus’ felt that ye needed assurin’ that I’m not really listenin’ this time.”_  
  
Paul and John looked at each other and then at the door, their eyes holding a puzzled gaze. Now, when had George not been interested in them having sex?  
  
“Is everything alright?” Paul called out and John nodded slightly, showing his appreciation to Paul for asking. There was a soft chuckle and then George’s voice came from just right behind the door crack.  
  
_“Yeah, no worries. But ye might wanna stay in there for a while; Ringo’s comin’ home and I sure am gonna have my well-earned blowjob.”_  
  
“Okay,” John talked now and Paul shivered under him. “Thanks for informing.”  
  
“Ye’re welks, folks,” George’s voice started fading when his footsteps moved towards the living room. Paul and John waited till they heard the sound of the door of the room being closed, before they let out a huge synchronised sigh and relaxed against each other.  
  
“Now what was that about?” John then asked, letting go of their dicks to support his weight on his elbows. Paul raised his eyebrows as well as turned the corners of his mouth down, shrugging without moving his shoulders.  
  
“Don’t know. But then again, it’s George. He’s got his reasons.”  
  
“Yeah,” John answered and lowered himself on top of Paul, breathing calmly. For a while they rested in silence before Paul shifted a bit, his erection brushing against John’s.  
  
“John—“  
  
“Yeah,” the older man said quickly and moved his hands again to continue with his earlier task. Paul sighed contently when he felt John’s hand on him again and he let his fingers caress John’s scalp through the soft auburn hair. He gently brought John’s head down to kiss him once again, lifting his legs up on his lover’s sides.  
  
“John,” he breathed and John hummed against his mouth, kissing his nose and cheeks.  
  
“John, I've been... I've been thinking... I think we should tell our parents about us.”  
  
John paused for a moment, examining Paul’s face closely. Then he nodded and let his lips touch Paul’s again.  
  
“If you wanna. But we do yours first.”  
  
“Yeah. Would be a pity if instead of presenting a boyfriend I’d only have his earthly remains.”  
  
“Yeah. Better showing up to Mimi without a dick than showing up to your folks without a head.”  
  
“Yeah. They could get trauma.”  
  
“Maybe we could scare George into a celibate.”  
  
“ _Definitely_ worth a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos??? Comments??? _anyone_?????


	4. George Is Almost Nice

Paul thought he was going mad. There was no reason for him to think about all this stuff. There was no reason for him to _go through_ all this stuff.  
  
He scrolled down and let out a moan when a particularly impressive work of art came on sight. He lifted one hand in front of his eyes and peered through his fingers to see John in the process of showing Paul how far his dick could go in Paul's arse. Paul felt slightly violated.  
  
_'I am fuckin' damned,'_ he thought desperately and saved the link into a word document he had only in his dropbox, behind a super-complicated password (iFailedUni2013JohnsFault) so that John wouldn't find it even if he tried. He scrolled down.  
  
The next photo was even worse (or better (Paul felt like ripping off his balls for having that thought)). It was definitely worse.  
  
At least Paul didn't have to wonder anymore how he would look while gagging on John's dick, hands bound behind his back and some sort of a... thing... stuffed in his butt.  
  
Paul _had_ to admit that John's chest looked admirably hot. But, well, John _was_ hot. And he was Paul's.  
  
...And Paul had made it clear that he didn't want anything to do with oral or anal with the older man.  
  
He knew that he would regret it deeply, but he decided to look at one more digital work. He scrolled down and when the picture came to a full scale on his MacBook's Retina screen he couldn't help but groan. The sound came from the back of his throat and he felt the vibrations around his chest. He brought his knees up to his chest, balancing his laptop on top of them, and tried to deal with the very uncomfortable boner forming inside his jeans.  
  
He looked at the digital painting again and felt his pulse quicken. He took a deep breath and then, without further thoughts, let his hand slowly caress the outline of his dick. The picture was too much. Damn George, damn the artist and damn _John_. Paul was so thoroughly _fucked_.  
  
At least he was in the painting. They were on the bed and John was holding him down, not an inch between their bodies. Paul's head was turned to the side, his eyes closed and a slightly painful expression on his face. Or then it could be described as "Receiving The Best Fuck Of His Life" -expression. Paul looked totally overwhelmed by John's actions.  
  
John's head was against his throat, reminding him of yesterday evening's incident. He felt his face flame up, as always when he thought about their sexual intercourses outside the situation itself. He wondered how it would feel to have John thrusting inside him while at the same time he was mouthing Paul's skin, his eyes half-lidded like in the picture. His right hand was somewhere behind them, maybe holding Paul's left one. His own left hand was holding Paul's leg, lifting it so that the... err, the action became visible. Paul's eyes got drawn to that part way too often.  
  
It wasn't like Paul wouldn't have known what it felt like, to have John against him like in the painting. But the intensity of the work, the sombre colours and the _expression_ on his face combined to the memory of the feeling of John's mouth and body... it was just simply awful. Paul almost felt like sobbing. He needed a wank.  
  
Without thinking more he saved the image and then quickly closed his computer, contemplating if it was too obvious from him to go to the shower now. George would know. He always knew.  
  
His dick ached and his stomach was twisting in knots, reminding him of the picture of that unquestionable pleasure that he'd just seen. He groaned and banged his head against the wall.  
  
He was bloody _fucked_.

***~**~***

_"So, you're coming for a visit then?"_ Paul's dad's too loud voice pierced through the speaker of his laptop and Paul grimaced, nodding.  
  
"Yeah, we all will, actually, 'cos everyone's got family over there," he answered and smiled at his dad, who was peering at Paul's face on the other end of the Skype chat. His balding forehead was the thing that Paul saw the most, as his dad hadn't really grabbed the idea of 'there is a camera and I see you through it so maybe you could sit back a bit'. He also hadn't understood that their home computer's microphone was quite fine too; he wouldn't have needed to talk so loudly for Paul to hear him.  
  
But, well, even if his dad _was_ kinda cool (that much he gave to George), he had never been destined to be one of those elder people who understood modern technology. Paul and his brother Michael had done their best, but Jim McCartney just didn't seem to get it. Paul didn't blame him for that, though; even he wasn't a wizard when it came to understanding computers. For that he had John.  
  
_"So are we finally going to meet your friends?"_ his mother spoke from where she was apparently ironing clothes and thus couldn't be in front of the camera to pull Paul's dad a bit backwards. Paul saw few remaining hairs on the top of Jim's head and the fear of ending up looking like him clutched his heart.  
  
"Yeah," he let out a tiny laugh and turned his head to look at John, who was reading  The Return of the King on the floor, Creature sleeping on his lap. George and Ringo were out in town, giving John and Paul the opportunity to use the living room for such things as Skype chatting and peaceful reading in an environment clean of stinking clothes in every corner.  
  
John turned his head a bit and gave Paul a brief smile before returning his attention to his book, his face a bit tense as he was probably in the point where Denethor was about to burn Faramir. Paul smiled faintly and then looked at the computer screen again, his smile widening when he remembered how John had clutched his hand while watching the movie. The lad didn't like Denethor AT ALL.  
  
_"I think we should have met this 'John' before he moved in with you and George,"_ Jim was speaking now and Paul rolled his eyes, almost hearing how his mum did the same. His dad never stopped talking about that and Paul had learnt right in the beginning that it wasn't anything to take seriously. His mum had even got a habit out of it, pulling faces at Jim behind his back whenever he was going at it again. Paul loved his mum.  
  
"Yeah, so you've told me," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, noticing how John was now watching him, apparently holding back a laugh. Paul wiggled his eyebrows at him and John snorted, bringing his hand to his mouth to stop the hysterical howling that was so typical for him.  
  
_"Jim, dear, why won't you go and make some tea while I talk a bit with Paul?"_ Paul's mother Mary now came into the picture, standing right behind Jim (Paul could see her over his dad's skull). Jim pulled a bit back, allowing Paul to see his wrinkled face for the first time during the whole chat, and stared at Mary for few seconds before he stood up and disappeared from the view. Paul could still hear him mumbling about 'rash decisions with strangers', but he decided to ignore it. John, on the other hand, seemed unable to hold himself together anymore. He burst out laughing, scaring off Creature and making Paul start giggling too.  
  
_"Is that John? Come and say hello, darling,"_ Mary spoke after a minute of the boys laughing and John started to get up, repeating 'yes ma'am' and 'coming, ma'am' all over again. He then threw himself on the sofa next to Paul, slung his arm over Paul's shoulders in a gesture that _seemed_ friendly for everyone who didn't _know_.  
  
_"There you are,"_ Mary smiled warmly and then glanced at the direction of the kitchen. _"Don't listen to Jim. You know how he's like, by now."_  
  
"Yeah, I do," John giggled and Mary eyed at him with a gentle expression she always had when John was in front of the camera.  
  
_"So how are you doing?"_ she asked and leant backwards in the chair, making herself comfortable. John raised his eyebrows and shot a look at Paul, who met his gaze and they shared a tiny smile before John shrugged nonchalantly.  
  
"Well, just like always. Actually, we have a new worker in the shop," he flashed a toothy smile at Paul's mother and Mary tilted her head, showing that she was interested.  
  
"Ah, well," John scratched his nose and glanced at Paul, who just looked at him with an expression which said that it was wholly John's job to talk now. To emphasise this point, he suddenly gave the laptop to John, standing up and heading for the kitchen.  
  
"But where are you going??" John's bewildered voice followed him and Paul turned to wink at him with a smug smile.  
  
"Now that Mum's keeping you entertained, I can go and eat the ice cream I've hidden behind the vegetables in the freezer."  
  
John's jaw dropped and he glanced at Mary, who was silently laughing into her hand.  
  
"That's your son! Shouldn't he be generous and fair???"  
  
"Yeah, but something twisted inside me when you moved in," Paul called before disappearing from the living room, leaving John to accompany his mother.  
  
John turned his whole body towards the webcam with an unbelieving expression and mock-hurt eyes. Mary laughed now freely and the auburn-haired man soon relaxed, letting a smile fall upon his face.  
  
"So, enough of this rubbish," he grinned, "You wanted to know about this new guy at work?"  
  
"Yes, do tell me," Mary nodded and John fell into the now familiar pattern of chatting with his boyfriend's mum.  
  
They had first seen each other on Skype just a bit after John had moved in. The boys hadn't said anything about their relationship, being too afraid of losing their testicles, but John and Mary had fast developed a warm and loyal friendship, which both John and Paul hoped wouldn't shatter at the moment of revelation.  
  
For John, Mary had even started to play a mother figure he had missed from his life. His own mother, Julia, had left him in the hands of her sister, John's aunt Mimi, as she had been more interested in flying overboard and becoming an actress. Usually she sent John one email per year and that was it. About his father he had no clue. John had long ago got used to this and had learnt to trust Mimi as his 'mother', but unfortunately she had forgotten to be born with a maternal instinct. So John really hadn't had any idea how mothers were _supposed_ to be before Paul entered his life. And here he was, shamelessly milking all of Mary's attention while her actual son was enjoying his _ice cream_. (John was sure it was chocolate. He was _sure_ it was chocolate. He hated Paul.)  
  
_"And are you going to see your family?"_ Mary asked and John nodded before chuckling, shaking his head.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm gonna see my ol' auntie Mimi and that's it."  
  
_"Oh? You don't have any other family?"_ Mary looked a bit troubled and John laughed this time.  
  
"Nope, but I was thinking of paying a visit to George's and Ringo's mums, 'cos they've always loved to fill me with home-made food!" he laughed even more and Mary joined him, if still not having a strangely sad expression on her face.  
  
_"And because you lot are going to sleep here, Jim will finally shut up about you being a total stranger,"_ she then smiled, eyeing John with a motherly expression that made John feel all warm.  
  
"Yeah, hopefully he would. I'm gonna show Paul to Mimi too, 'cos she's been dying to get to criticise my new friend," he winked and this time Mary laughed openly, probably loud enough that it finally got Paul out of the kitchen and into the living room.  
  
"I swear she likes you more than she likes me!" he huffed as a greeting when he marched in, a box of chocolate-banana ice cream in his hand and a spoon in another. It looked like he really wasn't in the mood of sharing it.  
  
Well, he would pay for it later that night, so John didn't really have anything to complain about.  
  
"Nah, what makes you think so?" he asked with a wide grin and a wink that he hoped Mary wouldn't see, as his head was turned to face Paul.  
  
"Just a gut feeling," Paul tried to look hurt but failed, and to cover up his slight screw-up stuffed his mouth full of ice cream. He sank into the sofa cushions next to John and offered his hand in a simple gesture of demanding his laptop back.  
  
"Fine then," John hissed, "You got ice cream, you got the laptop. Nothing in this world is for _me_!" he swung a pillow in the air and slammed it against Paul's head, making the younger man fall to the other side with a yelp. John snatched the laptop before it would fall on the floor and Paul, miraculously (or with hard practice) managed to keep the ice cream in his hands without ice-creaming their sofa and carpet.  
  
Mary's laugh could be heard from the speaker when John leant backwards, grinning smugly at Paul, who was now trying to get himself into a sitting position with the food in his hands.  
  
"And I thought of giving you a tiny taste..." Paul sighed, shaking his head miserably. John rolled his eyes and tried not to let his mind slip into something that Paul could give and John could taste.  
  
He shook his head to get rid of these thoughts and passed the computer to Paul, standing up while straightening his jeans.  
  
"I think I'll go and take a shower," he called in the direction of the microphone and waved his hand in front of the camera. "See you soon, Mrs. McCartney," he smiled widely and Mary waved her hand too, saying a happy _'Till next Saturday!'_  
  
When John was on the other side of the room, he turned once more to face Paul and pointed his thumb towards the shower with a tiny grin. Paul raised his eyebrows and smiled in a silent agreement.  
  
He left the room and snooped into their bedroom, sat on the bed and clasped his hands together. He would have to wait about fifteen minutes before Paul would be free from the chat. John had never been the one to be patient, but maybe this time he could handle those few minutes.  
  
Fifteen minutes was just enough to watch one video to get himself into a right mood.  
  
Smiling to himself he reached out for his laptop that was lying on top of the bed and switched it on while opening the zipper of his jeans.  
  
Waiting wouldn't be a problem at all.

***~**~***

They had packed up on Thursday, and on Friday afternoon they stuffed themselves into Ringo's Ford Mondeo, accompanied with Coke, McDonald's take-aways and two milkshakes for each. Jeff had taken Creature for the weekend (John didn't want to know how corrupted his cat would be when he got her back) and George had chosen the music (Elton John). So, with Ringo driving, George next to him and Paul and John together in the back seat, the mood was great and they didn't stop themselves from singing to the Crocodile Rock from the bottoms of their hearts.  
  
Even if the weather was typical for England (rain, fog and gloomy people falling from the sky) the journey was a pleasant one and both Paul and John got a reminder of why they had become George's friends in the first place. Probably it was something to do with them going back to Liverpool, their home town, but George was truly in a great state of mind and together they laughed and joked for the three hours that it took to drive up North. Paul and John were happy to cuddle the whole time in the backseat while George was not as happy as he couldn't do the same with Ringo, as the lad was very much taking care of their lives at the moment. But after some time the youngest of them just swallowed his complaints and concentrated on having a truly nice chat with the others. In short, he didn't mention anything sexually disturbing for the whole three hours, which was impressive. Very impressive.  
  
They arrived sometime around 5 PM, making it possible for them to look around a bit before going and meeting their families. They would all sleep at Paul's place, as that was the biggest of their parents' houses (not counting Mimi, but they knew she WOULD NOT have them all under her roof), making Mary very happy and Jim very grumpy. But they knew he liked having them around anyway.  
  
At least he would before hearing of his son's _boyfriend_.  
  
Liverpool hadn't changed much and they had quite a lot of fun going through old places, having a drink in an old favourite pub of theirs and chasing John through the Calderstone's Park after he had stolen George's and Ringo's iPhones, yelling at Paul to hide while he managed the situation. In the end he gave up as George had cornered him against a tree and had threatened to snog the hell out of him. Although he still gave John a peck on the lips when leaning in the get his dearest back. It had taken Paul some good 20 minutes to calm his boyfriend down.  
  
At 8 o'clock they finally made it to the McCartney's, knowing that it was a _tad_ too late, but also sure that Paul's parents wouldn't mind. They unpacked the car in a fuss and then waited behind the door for a few minutes, as Paul couldn't find his keys right away.  
  
Finally he found them in the inside pocket of John's leather jacket (God knows what they were doing there), and knocking on the door twice, let them all in.  
  
The house where Mary and Jim McCartney lived was a typical English terrace house with a garden and two floors. They had bought the house in the mid 90's from an old couple who had had it since the 50's. Back when Paul and his brother had been young the house had been quite a nightmare and it had taken time (and money) in an order to create the nice and pleasant living area they had now.  
  
The ground floor consisted of a joined kitchen/dining room, a bathroom (with a new whirlpool bath that Paul and John were dying to try), a living room and a small study full of Jim's papers, pens and folders with more papers inside. Upstairs in the first floor there were three bedrooms and a shower room, and also a small room that Paul and Mike called The Monster Box but that the parents thought of as a walk-in-closet. Both Paul and Mike's old bedrooms were now used as guest rooms, and now they would serve as a hotel for the four young men visiting the city.  
  
Mary and Jim had been waiting for them (as Jim loudly announced the moment Paul stuck his head in with a cheerful 'I'm home!') and after few minutes of more fussing, handshaking and kisses from Mary to the very much struggling George and Paul, they were all seated in the living room with tea and home-made biscuits. Especially Mary was truly excited to have the boys as her guests and so she had cleaned the whole house (twice), changed the bed sheets in the guest rooms (four times, being unable to decide which colour and pattern would be the best) and made enough biscuits and other sweets for the whole UK army.  
  
"I've made you your rooms," Mary smiled while she brought a chocolate cake into the living room, causing some excited goggling and gasping. "But I'm not sure who wants to sleep with whom."  
  
"Oh, we've sorted that out," Paul smiled sweetly while eyeing the cake with a gaze he should've only saved for John, "John comes into my room and George 'n Ringo into Mike's."  
  
Mary nodded happily and ignored Jim's silent mutter of 'already sleeping in the same room with the electronics seller', which almost caused a sudden death by suffocation to John, as he swallowed half of a biscuit too fast. After giving few firm hits on the older man's back, Paul turned back to his mum with a blinding grin.  
  
"So how's it going here in the great ole Liddypool?" he asked while reaching out for a piece of cake. He gave it to John and offered him a napkin in the process while giving him a stern look; _No chocolate on my Mum's designer sofa._  
  
"Oh," Mary started and glanced at Jim, who was staring at John with narrowed eyes. "Well, nothing much has changed. You probably already know that Mike got into this University to study photography... the University of Chester."  
  
"Oh, I didn't know. We haven't spoken in a while," Paul shrugged and now took some cake to himself.  
  
"Last time was in February, when he called to tell that you had to stop poking him on Facebook," John said absent-mindedly before stuffing a spoonful of cake into his mouth.  
  
"Yeah," Paul answered and paused for a minute, trying to remember that event happening. "Yeah. I guess it was then."  
  
"Except that time," John then continued while chewing the cake, waving the spoon in the air in front of Paul's face, "when you sent him an email asking him to stop sending you chain messages."  
  
"They were the most annoying thing ever!" Paul huffed and pushed the other's hand away, shifting a bit on the sofa so that his arm touched John's. "But, yeah, well... That's great then," he grinned at his parents. Jim was still glaring at John and Mary was smiling softly, her eyes holding a warm expression.  
  
"Yes, it's great," she then said before telling the boys to hurry with the cake, because it was getting late already. They did some small chatting, mainly talking about work.  
  
"What was the name of your blog again?" Jim suddenly asked Paul. Paul was just about to open his mouth, when the elder McCartney continued.  
  
"I would like to read it, but I haven't found it yet. It can be seen on the internet, right?"  
  
"Ah," Paul stated and closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again and then let out a short chuckle. "See, Dad, uh..." he glanced at John with a slightly panicking expression. If his dad read his blog, well... that wouldn't do any good, because that would give away a) that their life was a bit wilder than Jim imagined it to be and b) Paul had a partner. And he lived with his partner. And they were together. As boyfriends. A partner. As a Boyfriend.  
  
John caught his eye and lifted his right eyebrow just slightly, showing that he understood. And then he yawned. Yawned like Creature after waking up. It was a huge yawn.  
  
"Oh, look at the time flying!" Mary jumped and looked at the clock on the wall just to make sure that it really was that late. "It is time to go to sleep! We can't keep the visitors up late, now can we?"  
  
"But--" Jim started but Mary was already gathering the tea cups and plates, going on about how she hadn't realised they were tired after such a long ride and that they should get a good night's sleep, they were young lads anyway and everybody knew that young men liked to sleep, and oh Jim dear, would you be so kind and pass me that tray, please???  
  
With a tiny fuss over their bags, the boys climbed upstairs to get ready for bed. George and Ringo headed for Mike's old room, George leading the way while telling what had changed since he had last visited the house. Paul and John looked behind them for a minute before they shared a tiny smile and Paul nodded his head towards a door in front of them.  
  
"Go and take my pajamas out, if you please? I'm gonna take a piss," he smiled and John rolled his eyes, taking Paul's bag from him.  
  
"As you want, my fair lady."  
  
"Oi!"  
  
John avoided Paul's slap on the back of his head by entering Paul's old room. He stopped there and closed the door before turning around and taking in the place. A slow grin started to spread on his lips and he couldn't help but raise his eyebrows, making an expression that Paul called his 'This means sex' -look.  
  
They had a double bed but with different blankets and pillows. Apparently Mary had decided it wouldn't bother them to share the same mattress, which was quite fine by John. The room in general looked quite normal and even nondescript; the wallpaper was light blue-grey, the curtains were white and the bed sheets were both the same shade of grey. If John hadn't known better, he could've stepped into a hotel room.  
  
"Mum likes to keep the rooms like this," Paul's voice reached his ears and he turned to see his boyfriend at the door with a slight smile on his face. "The moment I moved away she sold my old stuff that I hadn't taken with me and bought this from IKEA," he waved his hand in the direction of the double bed, "and re-decorated the walls and everything. It was quite a shock when I came back the next weekend to show that I was still alive."  
  
John laughed and walked over to the bed, touched the foot end. He tried to imagine how Paul's room would've been before he had moved away; probably full of clothes, pictures of his favourite celebrities on the walls, colourful bed sheets and just... lively.  
  
Paul walked past John and sat on the bed, bouncing up and down on it for a minute. Then he sighed and looked over his shoulder, pointing at the wall in the back of the room.  
  
"There was a big poster of the Rolling Stones," he muttered and moved his gaze to another wall. "There, lots of pictures of friends and postcards and stuff like that. Important school papers an' that." Then he pointed at the ceiling and mumbled:  
  
"On the ceiling there was this huge, almost real life-sized picture of Kelly Brook," Paul lied down on his back and stared at the ceiling as if he could still see the said object, his eyes a bit glassy. John looked emphatic and moved over, sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
"I used to lie on my bed and stare at that poster," the dark-haired man continued with a quiet voice. "I used her looks in one story to describe a character. She was one of those people that you see but can never talk to. The main character was a loser."  
  
John snorted, trying not to laugh.  
  
"Oh, like me?" he then asked and Paul turned his eyes on him, his lips starting to twitch.  
  
"Yeah. Definitely. The biggest loser of 'em all."  
  
"Remember the birthday party?" John asked, bringing the memory of that into his mind. There, in front of the toilet, where it had all started.  
  
"Yeah," Paul answered with a smile in his voice, "I went wild."  
  
"Yeah," John grinned and then threw himself on the bed, next to Paul. He turned on his side, supporting his head on his hand and eyed the other with a bright expression. "I don't remember what you said anymore, though... Something like that I'm the funniest and most wonderful person that you've ever met?"  
  
"Probably something like that," Paul nodded and met John's gaze. "I also think I said something about you being the most beautiful guy in the world. And I told you to shut up."  
  
John laughed and let his head hang a bit down a bit when he took a breath. Then he raised it again and puckered his lips.  
  
"A peck to the most beautiful guy in the world?" he battered his eyelashes and made goggly eyes at Paul. Paul looked like he was calculating really hard the ups and downs of kissing him, not sure if there were more ups than downs.  
  
"Depends," he then said and John huffed, letting his head fall forward, slumping against Paul dramatically.  
  
"It always depends on something, doesn't it," he whined and Paul slapped him slightly at the top of his head.  
  
"Shush. It depends."  
  
"On what, now?"  
  
"I don't see my pajamas anywhere."  
  
"Oh come on!!!" John lifted his face and smacked his lips few times, earning a disgusted look from Paul.  
  
"No. Ew. Pajamas."  
  
"Fine," John groaned and got up, starting to look for the bags. "I am generous. I am kind. I do what my lady wants. Fuck you, Paul."  
  
"Love you, too," Paul answered automatically. And then his brain hit him.  
  
No. He wasn't supposed to say it.  
  
He thought he loved John. Yes. But what if John didn't? Paul had been determined to let John say it first. And then he would answer with those words.  
  
He wasn't supposed to say it yet. What if John would chicken out of their relationship because he felt the pressure of knowing that Paul was in love with him but he himself wasn't?  
  
But of course John would know how to take that sentence. It was only a way of... of responding to someone and... and surely John thought that it was like that?  
  
Paul turned his head away and held his breath, biting his lip. John would never think of it as something else. He was stupid by thinking this kind of thing. Why was he even thinking like this, now? It was just a sentence. He wasn't supposed to make it to this big... big scene in his head. Yeah. That's what it was. A scene in his head. He hadn't planned on doing that. He hadn't ever planned on saying it so easily. Well, of course he had planned on saying it sometime, but only when he was really really sure about his feelings. Why was he thinking of this now? He had to stop soon. He had to act as if he hadn't said anything. He didn't even know if this was love. Surely it could've been, right? They had been together for 6 months. Was it enough to develop such strong feelings as love?  
  
And again, why was he still continuing to think about this? He should just laugh it off. Anyways, even if Paul had _meant_ to tell John that he was _in love_ (eep!) with him, John probably wouldn't take it so seriously. Paul couldn't be sure that John felt the same way. He had decided to let John say it first. He had decided...  
  
"Paul?"  
  
Paul jumped up into a sitting position with a deep breath, standing up right away.  
  
"Right," he let out these birth-giving huffs again, turning around several times, avoiding looking at any part of John as well as he could. "Right. The loo. Yeah. I'll... I'll just. Uhm. Yeah."  
  
He started heading to the door, his hand was almost at the knob, when fingers closed around his wrist and his breath hitched, his feet gluing themselves to the floor.  
  
"Paul." John's voice reached his ears like it was coming through fog and his heart started pounding. Oh, how he really hated things when they got like this. He just hated it so _much_. Why couldn't he just hold his big, fat mouth??? Why did he have to go and say stuff that he _meant_ with all his heart but wasn't the thing that he _should've_ said? And the expression 'love you, too' was so widely used. Surely John heard it everywhere. Surely in John's mind the meaning wasn't really 'I actually _actually_ might love you' but 'yeah, cool dude'.  
  
"Uh," Paul started, still without looking at John. He didn't even know why he made such a fuss over three little words. There was something really wrong with his mind. He was being overdramatic. He needed to stop his thoughts before he got too far again.  
  
"The loo," he breathed, John's grip tightening. Paul needed to know what he was thinking. Except that of course he was only thinking that Paul was acting weirdly and that John maybe had to check if he had fever. Paul was always irrational when he had fever. Yeah. Maybe that was it. He had fever.  
  
"Hey," John spoke again and this time Paul, without a blink, turned his head and met John's eyes.  
  
They stared at each other for which felt like forever, but then Paul couldn't take it anymore.  
  
"Um," he swallowed, "you know... like, it doesn't, uh, mean... I mean, sure it does, but I mean, not like... I really need to... I'm pretty sure that you... I mean, I don't--"  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake," John huffed and rolled his eyes, a grin widening on his lips. "You're hopeless, you know that?"  
  
"You might've mentioned it a few times, yes," Paul muttered, his face reddening and he started turning around again, trying to make an escape plan in his head. He wished that George was here to get John's attention somewhere else.  
  
"Paul," John now sounded almost desperate, but he was still smiling. And then another hand snuck up to the back of Paul's head and brought his eyes to face John.  
  
"Your pajamas," the auburn-haired man said softly after a minute of silence that Paul didn't know how to react to, and then handed him his pajamas.  
  
"Oh. Thanks," Paul breathed out, but he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed. What had he waited anyway? It was only good that John hadn't caught up anything.  
  
"Go go, I'll be after you then," John smiled, if not a bit oddly, and Paul nodded, finally pulling himself away from John's grasp. John walked behind him to the door of the loo, saying that he had to talk with George and Ringo about something. Paul got inside the loo, ready to start brushing his teeth and give himself something else to think other than the pounding of the heart.  
  
"Don't take too long," John hummed from the door and Paul snorted, glancing at John with a sarcastic smile.  
  
"When would I?"  
  
"My fair lady needs her time removing the make-up and plucking her eyebrows."  
  
"Oh, fuck off, John!" Paul laughed and reached for the toothpaste. John started to turn towards the other guest room in the house, but then at the last minute he paused and stuck his head to the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"Oh, and Paul?" he then asked and without giving Paul any time to even turn back to look at him, said;  
  
"Love you, too."  
  
His head disappeared from the doorway and Paul was left standing there, squeezing the tube in his hand without even noticing the mint toothpaste squirting out from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er... If someone wants to comment it _is_ alright with me


	5. George Worries For OTP

"You did WHAT?????" George shrieked and shook John by his shoulders. "WHAT????"  
  
"I told you. I kinda said to Paul that I love him," John breathed and pushed George away, feeling a need to sit down a bit. He felt quite light in the head and it was like the whole world had somehow shifted. He felt absolutely great.  
  
"And what does," started Ringo with a careful voice, "this 'kinda' mean?"  
  
"Oh," John answered, "it's 'cos he said it first. Like, I was telling him to fuck off and then he said 'Love you, too' and then he got kinda hysteric. _And_ then he told me to fuck off and I said 'Love you, too'."  
  
He felt pride swell in his chest which was accompanied by a deep, deep warmth that wrapped around him and gave his heart some serious problems in keeping the pulse balanced. He still didn't really understand that it had happened. Paul had told him he loved him and John answered, too! He felt like screaming and rolling around on the floor.  
  
"Okay. So, we have two options then," Ringo said, glancing at George who was seemingly having a hard time keeping himself conscious. "Either Paul actually _understood_ the _actual_ meaning behind the word, _or_ he didn't and misinterpreted it for just a playful sentence that most people mean nothing by. The thing is, which one did he mean?"  
  
"He... it kinda seemed like he understood. He acted that way," John sighed, thinking of Paul and his perfect, beautiful jaw line. And his tiny straight nose. And his huge, brown-greenish eyes that didn't hide any emotions from John. And his mouth. Those plump, almost girly lips. Oh _boy_ , that _mouth_!  
  
"Earth to John," someone called him and he started a bit, lifting his eyes to meet George's, which were trying to burn holes into his head.  
  
"Yeah?" he asked numbly and George put his hands on his hips, leaning forward so that his head was almost level with John's.  
  
"Listen, this is important," he started and John nodded, still feeling like he was in some faraway land. Paul loved him. He loved Paul. What else would ever be as important? Everything else was meaningless compared to Paul's smile.  
  
"It's marvellous, it _really_ is the _best_ thing _ever_ , if it really is option one," George said and John sensed a 'but' coming next.  
  
"But if you're wrong, 'cos all the proof we have is how well you know him... Don't go barging in, declaring your love, okay?" George searched for some kind of an understanding in John's eyes. John wasn't sure the lad found it. He would have been very happy to just barge in and declare his love. And then have some amazing Love-Declaring sex.  
  
"Just..." Ringo sighed and massaged his forehead a bit, "test the ground a bit before saying anything. See if he does _anything_. And _then_ you're free to have your quiet love-making, 'cos we're in his parents' house anyway. Got it?"  
  
"Yeah," John answered with an uninterested voice and dreamed about Paul's eyebrows. George and Ringo shared a worried, not-so subtle glance and then waved at him to go. Ringo wished him good luck and George mumbled very uncharacteristically, with worry in his voice, 'Don't be too disappointed if he didn't actually mean it'.  
  
The walk back into their room was longer than it had been some ten minutes ago. Somehow during this walk the doubts started flowing through the pink haze in his mind, filling his head. What if Paul had actually thought of it as a joke? What if John had totally misunderstood the way Paul had avoided looking at him, the way his eyes had bulged out of his head with panic, and how he had forgot that logical sentences existed.  
  
John didn't think it was possible for him to get the wrong conclusion out of that behaviour. But what if? He always hated to admit when George was right, but now the best option was probably... feel around a bit and then say that he really, undoubtedly loved Paul. But only if it seemed like Paul loved him too.  
  
He paused in front of the door and then knocked softly before opening it, gathering the remaining bits of his self-confidence. And once again what he saw made him question 'what the fuck, Paul' silently in his head.  
  
The younger man was lying on the floor on his stomach, next to the bed, with his jogging pants and the night t-shirt on, his forehead against the carpet. He didn't react in any way when John opened the door and stayed in the doorway, just staring at him.  
  
A few moments passed in silence before John leant on the doorframe while crossing his arms over his chest, and raised his eyebrows questioningly.  
  
"Paul," he stated with a more stable voice than he had thought he could muster at the moment. His mind was still screaming that Paul loved him, but he had to be able to perform at least some kind of mature acting. He wasn't a _teenager_ anymore. "Don't tell me you're having one of your hysterias."  
  
"I might be there in a few moments," was Paul's muffled answer. Not even and inch of his body moved. John sighed and pulled himself straight before he walked to Paul, leant down and tugged the other's arm.  
  
"C'mon," he said, hoping that Paul wouldn't notice his hands shaking, "let's go to bed, alright?"  
  
"I am being hysterical." Paul's voice was hysteric.  
  
"Yeah, but you can be hysterical under the covers too," John rolled his eyes and felt his chest blooming with love and affection for the younger man. Paul was such an idiot.  
  
"John," Paul started and took a deep breath, still not moving. "I am hysterical. Oh my God. John. Jesus Christ."  
  
"Yeah, all those three are great fellows," John answered cheerfully and snuck his arms around Paul's stomach, preparing himself. Not that Paul would be heavy, or that John would be too weak, but it wasn't _that_ easy to lift a bloke of your age.  
  
"You could help a bit as well," John huffed when he pulled up and Paul's quite limp body followed.  
  
"I am having an internal crisis," Paul sounded now strained, as if he was almost crying. "What did those Jehovah people say about Jesus? That he brings relief to your life? I might want to make an appointment. Where can I get one?"  
  
John sighed and with all his might threw Paul on the bed just next to them. It was no use trying to talk to him when he was like this. Sometimes Paul's hysterias were over in a few minutes. Now, whatever Paul was thinking of the _thing_ that had _happened_ , it made him have a serious fit. And John knew that it was big now, because he was talking about _Jehovah's witnesses_. Seriously?  
  
"Those Jehovah people also say that being gay is bad," he reminded while starting to move Paul on the bed, dragging him under the covers. "Remember when they heard George and Ringo having sex in the shower?"  
  
"Yeah. I felt so bad for them."  
  
"But you still allowed me to call you 'love' in front of them," John hummed nonchalantly, keeping the corner of his eye on Paul's reaction while taking off his shirt. He knew what that word would cause in Paul's hysterical brain. If he had been right, if it was option one, then Paul would surely...  
  
The dark-haired man stilled, all the air seemingly leaving his lungs. A blush started creeping on his cheeks and his eyes lost the glassy expression they had had, clearing up.  
  
And then he, without a word, turned and rolled around, falling on the floor with a thump.  
  
"Oh for the..!" John started with slight frustration now and was just about to go and pick Paul up again, when the man was suddenly on his feet.  
  
"John," he started, with his eyes huge and his cheeks pink, hair all messy and looking adorable. John felt how the air shifted; the hysterical cloud around Paul turned into hysterical awkwardness.  
  
"Yeah, that's me," he answered and started taking his jeans off. It was always better for Paul if he acted calmly. Even if he still felt like jumping out of the window and digging a hole to China or something like that.  
  
"John. Oh my God."  
  
It seemed that Paul was slowly coming back into his senses.  
  
"John. Jesus fucking Christ."  
  
Apparently the shock and the hysteria were working hand in hand now.  
  
"..."  
  
John looked up and saw Paul staring at him with eyes wide, totally speechless. His face was now pale and it seemed that he had finally understood what had really happened. The easy part was over; now was the time for talking, and this wouldn't be easy for John either. It was like the birthday party all over again.  
  
"Let's talk," he muttered and climbed on the other side of the bed, wearing only his briefs. He didn't have to wait long for Paul to act; the young man took the required three steps and he as well got in bed, sitting on top of the covers just like John did.  
  
Silence took over the room when John started a staring competition where he kept his eyes on Paul and Paul, on the other hand, tried to win his sock-covered feet. For few moments they went on like that, John barely managing to breathe. And then he just decided that what the heck, why wouldn't he just get on with it???  
  
"You know----ahhhh," he started and then came to the conclusion that not saying anything was a fine option as well. Why waste time talking? They would be just fine sitting there for the whole night without saying a word. So he snapped his mouth shut and turned his eyes away from Paul, finding his hands in his lap suddenly very interesting.  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
Paul's mumble made him startle and he looked up, tried to meet the other's eyes. But Paul was still competing with his socks, seemingly determined to win over them.  
  
"But if it ain't really," John started but then couldn't find anything to finish his sentence. So he just left it there, hanging, waiting for Paul to answer, if Paul could use his Magical Mind-Reading Powers and would understand what John was trying to say. _If it wasn't really love that Paul felt for John, he would be fine to pretend as if nothing had happened_. But how to say that without actually pronouncing the word 'love'? John felt as if he had forgotten half of his English vocabulary.  
  
"Not appealing," Paul answered and John sighed.  
  
"Inconvenient," he muttered and he heard Paul take a deep breath.  
  
"So then it might be..."  
  
"But if you're not..."  
  
"On the other hand, you..."  
  
"Oh, me? Deep down there."  
  
"Drowning?"  
  
"With an anchor."  
  
"Ah," Paul breathed and he lifted his head, stared at John straight in the eyes. And then he blushed.  
  
"Me too," he whispered and then slammed his hands over his face, startling John. And then he started groaning vaguely something that John didn't even try to listen; he was too busy with his mind screaming Oh My God over and over again. This was it. The final proof that Paul actually loved him back.  
  
He felt a smile spread on his lips, a smile that became so big that it hurt, but he couldn't stop himself. And in his chest there was a feeling that he couldn't quite place; it felt as if something wanted to come out, maybe a shout or a whoop or something similar. It twisted in his stomach, rose up into his heart and made a knot there, a knot of excitement and of this huge _something_ , and he knew that it had come to stay.  
  
Of course the love declaration hadn't come like he had imagined that it would, but thinking of him and Paul this, in the end, had been a natural way of putting it on the table. Their whole relationship was destined to be an awkward mess, so why not have this happening in it too?  
  
John didn't think that he had ever felt so happy as he did now, but still he was unsure of what to do now. Should he go and grab Paul and kiss him? Or say the words 'I love you' properly? Or just lie down and see if Paul did the same and then go to sleep while cuddling?  
  
Fortunately, in the end he didn't have to think any of that, as Paul seemed to _finally_ come into his _real_ senses.  
  
He threw himself on John so forcefully that it made them both lose their balance and they fell to the side, falling on the floor with a loud thump that could surely be heard all over the house. John moaned with pain when his back met with the floorboards, Paul's body crushing him against them. For a while he just lied there, pressing his eyes shut and trying to get a hold of his legs that seemed to be waving somewhere that he didn't exactly know where. Then he, after having decided that yes, he was still in one piece, lifted his hands and wrapped them around the person on top of him.  
  
"You're gonna wake the whole house," he mumbled and cracked one eyelid, casting an accusing glance at Paul, who was grinning down at him with his eyes shining.  
  
"As if they'd be sleeping," the bastard answered and leant down, letting his nose collide with John's. John sighed and closed his eye, relishing the feeling of Paul close to him, smelling the scent of his aftershave that somehow always reminded him of peanuts, holding him there, safe, close and _his_.  
  
"I really do love you," Paul's breathy voice whispered and John's eyes shot open, his hands around Paul tightening, his soul singing _Hosanna_. However, when he was about to open his mouth Paul frowned in a very powerfully silencing way.  
  
"I'll give George full access to your body if you dare to Han Solo me," he hissed with a frightening tone and John grinned nervously.  
  
"I wasn't gonna..."  
  
"You were."  
  
"Wasn't!"  
  
"You _were_!"  
  
"Okay, I was," John sighed and started moving his hand from Paul's back towards his head. "But it doesn't matter, in the end. Han Solo loves Princess Leia anyway."  
  
"He does, does he?" Paul muttered and within the movements of John's hand started lowering his head even more, his nose touching John's again.  
  
"He does," John breathed into Paul's mouth, twining his fingers into the younger man's hair. "Madly."  
  
Paul pressed his mouth down and John was ready, and he had been ready for so long. And the kiss, their first kiss while knowing that they actually _loved_ each other, was without a doubt the best one they'd ever shared. Even when Paul's hit his elbow on the nightstand and John probably broke his spine. But nevertheless, it was the best.  
  
They crawled back in bed after some good fifteen minutes of wordless, passionate snogging and cuddled up, wrapping themselves around the other. And there they stayed; slowly drifting into sleep that would, at least for one of them, reflect the evening's emotional roller coaster ride.

***~**~***

"I can't sleeeeeeeep," George moaned and Ringo sighed.  
  
"Yeah, I know. But I think they'll be fine. We'll see in the morning."  
  
"What if they break up???? What do I do _then_??!?!"  
  
"Then you just plot them together again. Don't worry; I don't think they'd break up even if it was actually a misunderstanding," the big-nosed man stroked George's hair and yawned, feeling the tiredness fill his body and mind.  
  
"I wouldn't wanna get 'em hurt," George muttered, his hold around Ringo's midsection tightening. Ringo turned his head slightly towards George and then kissed his forehead, letting his lips stay against it a bit longer than necessary. George breathed in deeply and closed his eyes.  
  
"We'll see in the morning," Ringo repeated and let his hand drop from George's hair, relaxing it against his neck. George snuggled closer and pulled the covers to have them both properly under them.  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"..."  
  
"...Good night."  
  
"Hmm."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all give a few comments for all the eFFORTS I'VE HAD TO DO FOR THESE TWO GUYS I SWEAR


	6. George Is Secretly Relieved

Paul stared at the moon that was talking to him. 'Keep yourself aware of the camera', it was saying, 'keep yourself aware of all those that are surrounding you'. Paul didn't quite understand, but nodded anyway as he had always trusted the moon. Why, he couldn't say. The moon liked chocolate. Those kinds of moons are good ones.  
  
He felt a hand touching his back and he turned, but didn't see anyone. He was just about to comment on this to the moon when he realised; the moon had travelled away. He was in Egypt.  
  
Suddenly there was John pushing Paul into the living room of their flat, wearing a tunic that looked like it was made of several Creatures. They both laughed when George floated past them totally naked and his iPhone in his hand, ready to take pictures.  
  
"Look at the moon!" he shouted and Paul raised his eyebrows. But George couldn't see the moon. The moon was in Egypt.  
  
Then a door opened and Cynthia walked in, bringing with her a baseball bat. Paul turned to run away, but the door he and John had entered from had vanished. The living room wasn't his anymore but that of Cynthia and John.  
  
'But no,' he thought in a haze when Creature-John marched towards his ex-girlfriend with a huge smile, 'They wouldn't need to bring me here.'  
  
John leant down and kissed Cynthia, and the whole room seemed to turn red. Paul felt furious and turned to the Floating George, but George wasn't any of that anymore. He was moving on top of Ringo rhythmically, filming him at the same time. Paul tried to tell them that doing that in front of Cynthia was very impolite, but he couldn't speak. He wondered what the reason was before he understood that John was kissing him.  
  
"I need to be discreet, or Cynthia will see me," the auburn-haired man in front of him breathed and Paul shivered. Why was he suddenly naked? But it didn't bother him very much, to be truthful, as John was naked too and that was always a good thing, having a naked John.  
  
And then suddenly he was lying in the dark on his back, and John was on top of him, and he felt his legs in the air and John's fingers caressed his lips gently.  
  
"Do you see the moon?" John whispered, his voice sweet and caring. Paul's heart ached and he nodded, starting to cry with the overwhelming feeling that washed through his body. John positioned himself carefully, his fingers stroking Paul's sides as lovingly as always.  
  
"Moon is a black man," Paul breathed and John pushed inside him, filling him with his love.....  
  
Paul opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, the pounding of his heart filling his ears.  
  
No way.  
  
There was no. Way. That. He. Had. Just. Dreamed. That.  
  
N o.  
  
It had to be an accident. He had somehow learnt mind reading during the night and that had been George's dream being dirty as always. He just couldn't, he just _couldn't_ , never _ever_ , have dreams like _that_. That would mean that he actually... actually wanted... _No way_.  
  
He turned his head to look at John's sleeping, calm form. The auburn-haired man's face was about four inches away from Paul's. His expression was relaxed and one of his hands was under the pillow, making Paul fear that it would be numb when the lad woke up.  
  
He groaned quietly and lifted a hand over his eyes, concentrating on breathing. He couldn't start panicking now, because this was the day they were supposed to come out to everyone. He just _couldn't_ start dwelling on the dream now. He should forget it. Just, forget it and _never_ think about it again.  
  
"Paul?" John's sleepy voice called and Paul looked at his side, finding his boyfriend staring at him through one cracked eyelid.  
  
"Mornin'," Paul murmured and felt a smile form on his lips. He turned to his side, reaching out his hand to wrap it around John's shoulders to bring him closer. He pressed his forehead against the other's and John let out a content sigh, closing his eye.  
  
"Did you sleep well?" he mumbled then with waves of morning fatigue radiating from him, as usual. Paul swallowed and hummed, not giving a proper answer to the question. _'Just fine, actually you started fucking me and I think I might've enjoyed it maybe too but I woke up because your **dick** was in my **butt**.'_  
  
"Why are you sweating..?" John yawned, lifting his fingers to touch the side of Paul's forehead, still not fully opening his eyes. Paul blinked and felt his breath quicken almost immediately. No. He was sweating. John would catch him in no time.  
  
“It’s a bit hot here, don’t you think?” he breathed and John’s lips turned up into a smirk as one of his hands (Paul was _convinced_ that the bastard had an ability to grow extra limbs whenever he was under blankets) started travelling towards the southern parts of Paul.  
  
“Yeah. Or then it’s just you...” John opened his other eye when his hand ghosted over the bulge in Paul’s briefs. Paul was suddenly ready to pray to any existing god in the universe that his parents wouldn’t come upstairs.  
  
“Might... might be,” he almost moaned and John started laughing, turning his head and trying to muffle his giggling.  
  
“It’s your parents’ house!” he then exclaimed and brought his hand up to cup Paul’s cheek. And then he was kissing him, kissing and laughing into his mouth and Paul knew he should be offended, somehow, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care. John started slowly stroking him through his briefs, his hand a bit wobbly and slow, giving that it was the morning and he had just woken up.  
  
“C’mon then,” he yawned and got up on one elbow, pushed Paul flat on his back on the mattress. Then he got on his knees, groaning and huffing and almost falling over several times, before he managed to climb on top of Paul. He let himself fall there with an 'oof', giving Paul some breathing difficulties.  
  
“Seriously, love, if it’s so much of a problem to do this, why do you bother?” he gasped and John remained unmoving on him, his deep breathing being the only response from him.  
  
“You’re crushing me, you fat-arse,” Paul groaned and tried to push the man up and off him, but it had no effects. John had suddenly become a 90,000,000,000,001 pound heavy whale.  
  
“Hrrmmhblbl,” was the whale’s answer, probably saying ‘you have hamster cheeks’. Paul fought the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
“You were _doing something_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, poking the whale on the side repeatedly.  
  
“I had forgotten,” it whaled in a very whale-ish way.  
  
“Forgotten what?” Paul was ready to ask his dad to shoot it already, without any hesitation. He shifted a bit, trying to crawl out from under the big non-fish, but not succeeding.  
  
“I love you,” John’s head sprung up so fast Paul could swear his neck cracked, but only a small part of his brain registered that thought.  
  
Yeah. John loved him.  
  
“Oh,” he breathed, suddenly fully out of breath. Now that the last evening’s panic had ceased, the realisation of it hit him on full force.  
  
“Yeah. Now, where was I,” John started with an absent-minded voice and started moving, getting up on his knees, but Paul wasn’t all of a sudden, all that keen of letting him go. His arms shot up faster than John could have reacted and wrapped around the older man’s neck, bringing him back down.  
  
“You stay,” Paul whispered, not finding his voice, “right here, okay?”  
  
John was probably about to complain and make a fair point of Paul’s tiny friend being in _need_ , but Paul wasn’t going to hear any of that. So he solved the problem by kissing John, who didn’t seem to mind at all, in the end.

***~**~***

“Good morning!” Paul yelled cheerfully when he and John entered the kitchen about forty minutes later. George and Ringo were already there, eating a real home-made breakfast that Mary had created with skills that would make anyone envious. The expressions that the two lads wore were careful; George even seemed a bit uncertain, which was not something you saw every day.  
  
“What’s the deal?” Paul asked with that same cheerful tone while going and giving Mary a kiss on the cheek. John was also smiling, his lips stretching out from ear to ear and his eyes glinting in a bit of a maniac way. “Why so gloomy on this fine morning of our splendid voyage in the city of cities!”  
  
“Jesus Christ, Paul,” George groaned, “Last time you got this poetic was when John baked you chocolate biscuits.”  
  
“You'd think,” Ringo started without lifting his eyes from his tea, “that something great has happened.” He glanced at John with an arched eyebrow and John flashed him a grin that could’ve killed a Dementor. It also worked on Ringo, as he turned his head away immediately with a moan of ‘it’s nine in the morning, for god’s sake’ and started rubbing his eyes.  
  
“Something prodigious has indeed come to pass,” Paul exclaimed and George rolled his eyes, letting out a huge sigh that seemed to be out of relief more than anything else.  
  
“Great. Take a seat, mate, and start eatin’ so you won’t be able to speak,” he waved his hand in the air and Paul bounced to sit at the table, starting to collect food on his plate right away. John came to sit next to him, and together they all four ate while talking on top of each other, somehow still finding a way of listening to the others. Jim came in the kitchen door shortly at one point but left soon, throwing a more-or-less disgusted look at John who had his arm thrown around Paul’s shoulders. Mary just listened and laughed along with her guests while enjoying her tea.  
  
“So,” she then raised her voice after some time and all four boys quieted down to listen to her, “what are you going to do today?”  
  
John glanced at Paul, who decided to stare intently at his toast. George started drinking his already cold tea and then ran out of the kitchen saying that he had burnt his tongue. Ringo subtly stabbed a fork into his cheek and then left the room as well, wondering if he would die of blood loss.  
  
“Uh,” John started while looking behind Ringo, deciding to murder him later. “We’re gonna see some... friends, um, well, family, mainly...”  
  
“Actually, we got something important to talk about,” said Paul, grabbing his tea cup with both hands. John's mouth was left hanging open for a while before his brain registered that he should probably close it. He would have to talk with Paul about this kind of decision being made together. John didn't like being unprepared.  
  
"Oh? What is it about?" Mary's brow furrowed and she got an overly-worried expression on her face. Paul grimaced and shook his head slightly.  
  
"Nothing- nothing bad, Mum, I promise. Or, well..." he talked of and glanced at John nervously. "Depends on how bad you think it is... Could we get Dad here?"  
  
"Sure," Mary answered after a pause and went to call for Jim. John took this as an opportunity to hiss into Paul’s ear:  
  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?? This early?!??"  
  
"The sooner it's over, the better, in my opinion," Paul breathed back and John had just enough time to elbow him to the side before Mary came back with Jim.  
  
"So, Paul, what is it on your mind?" she asked with a gentle tone and sat at the table, Jim following her lead. John could hear Paul swallowing and he tightened his grip on his boyfriend's shoulder, silently saying goodbye to his dick. He wondered if the life of a eunuch would be interesting.  
  
"Uh," Paul started and John wished he wouldn't have lost his poetic mood, "there is something that I, or, um, well, _we_ have to say..." he turned wide eyes that screamed help to John and snapped his mouth shut, apparently deciding that he'd done enough talking. John mouthed 'traitor' at him before putting on a charming smile that he knew wouldn't help _one bit_.  
  
"You, you see, Mr. and Mrs. McCartney, that, um, Paul and I, well, you see," he took a deep breath and Paul looked at him with a very encouraging arch of an eyebrow.  
  
"The thing is that we... we're actually together."  
  
Mary and Jim stared at them. Paul and John stared back. John could hear blood rushing in his ears. Paul's shoulder was twitching funnily and John could swear he was nearing hysteria. And then, just as Jim opened his mouth, Paul spoke and caused everyone's eyes to fall on him.  
  
"As boyfriends. We're together. As boyfriends."  
  
"I think they understood," John said quietly into Paul's ear and Paul turned to look at him, only four inches separating their faces.  
  
"Well, I'm just making it clear," Paul hissed back and John lifted his eyebrows. Paul shrugged faintly and they looked at each other for a few seconds more before turning back at Paul's parents.  
  
"That is..." Mary then started when she had both of the boys' attention, "that is really great." She smiled and then, as if she suddenly realised that Paul and John weren't joking and that John would from now on attend family parties, she sprung up on her feet and came flying to embrace the two lads sitting on the other side of the table.  
  
"I am so _happy_ for you two!" she exclaimed while kissing John on the cheek, squeezing him into her arms.  
  
"Yeah. Great," Paul stated, "don't choke him, Mum."  
  
"Oh dear, oh dear," Mary repeated and tore herself away from John, who was trying to catch his breath. Paul laid a hand on his shoulder and patted gently, the act friendly but made with ease that told that the two of them had achieved that kind of a comfort that only two lovers could have around each other.  
  
Jim frowned and narrowed his eyes.  
  
"So you're a queer, then," he more than stated and Paul jumped, having forgotten that his father hadn't actually voiced his thoughts at all.  
  
"N-no," he stuttered and he wrapped his arms around John, securing a death grip on him. "I'm... I'm not gay. But I'm with John."  
  
"But how could you... _see_ something in him if you're not..." Jim's voice started to sound disgusted and Paul tightened his hold on John, who started having difficulty breathing. Mary leant on the kitchen wall, her hands crossed over her chest, an amused, fond glint in her eyes.  
  
" _Well_ , I see _many_ things in John. I like girls, but I _love_ him!" the younger Mr. McCartney said a bit more confidently than before, narrowing his eyes at his father. Jim raised his voice.  
  
" _Love_?? How long has this been going on??? How can't you be sure that he's not only _using_ you, living under your roof, _profiting_ on... other stuff..."  
  
"Dad--" Paul sucked in breath and John was ready to say goodbye to air for the rest of eternity. "He's here _too_ , if you failed to notice," his boyfriend hissed and John suppressed the urge to develop magical powers of teleportation and vanish in a second to get somewhere safe. Why did Paul have to remind everyone that he was there as well? He would've been just fine going through this unnoticed.  
  
"Yeah, uh," he started and everyone's eyes turned on him. "I--I don't use him. I mean, of course I sometimes eat his chocolate. And sometimes I steal his 'true 1890s kid' t-shirt. It actually says '1890's', too. But he got it from George and he hates it. So I actually have a permission to steal it every now and then. _And_ , well, sometimes I tell him to feed my cat. Our cat. It's his now, too. And so he has to feed it. Sometimes. As well."  
  
He felt cold sweat break through the skin of his forehead. Paul was shaking, probably either from holding back a laugh or tears. Or both. John knew this wasn't going as planned.  
  
"But," Jim continued with that raised voice of his, "Paul, you can't possibly say that this _man_ would be... would be _good_ for you--"  
  
"I think that's enough."  
  
Jim's mouth snapped shut faster than Paul's would if George's dick happened to come towards it 1,000,000 miles per hour. He seemed to somehow get smaller when Mary walked forward, putting hands on her hips and taking her Don't-Forget-Who's-The-Boss-In-This-House expression in use.  
  
"Jim dear," she said with a sing-a-song voice, "I really need your help in cleaning the kitchen counters. Would you be so kind to do it? You could also put the milk and the butter into the refrigerator."  
  
Jim nodded fast, succumbing even more under his wife's gaze.  
  
"Now, boys," Mary turned to John and Paul, a sweet smile on her face that somehow made the room go dark and caused every single hair in John's neck stand up, "you have lots of things to do today, don't you? Call me later, Paul dear, to tell us if you are coming home for dinner."  
  
"Yes, Mum!!!" Paul gasped, jumped on his feet, dragging John with him, and started pulling him out of the kitchen. "Thanks for the breakfast!" he shouted over his shoulder and then he was running up the stairs as fast as he could, John having no other options than following him.  
  
They ran into Paul's old room and the dark-haired man slammed the door shut and then leant against it, fighting for breath.  
  
"What... what the hell was that?" John asked, a confused look on his face. Paul swallowed and looked a bit frightened.  
  
"You really don't wanna be in the same room with Mum when she speaks with that tone. Dad's screwed," he breathed and John blinked, somehow not doubting it at all. He shivered when remembering Mary's smile.  
  
"Well... but I guess that it went quite well," he wiped the image away from his head and raised his eyebrows, sitting on the bed. Paul looked thoughtful before he nodded and walked towards John, soon climbing into his lap and melting against him.  
  
"Could've been a lot worse, I guess."  
  
"At least your Dad's not blaming _you_ ," John snorted and Paul sighed, pressing nose against John's cheek.  
  
"I fear that he's gonna sneak in during the night and perform a castration," he said with a slightly squeaky voice and John shuddered, trying not to imagine it happening.  
  
"Better go and see Mimi now, then."  
  
"Oh, so that you won't be alive anymore to witness having your... your _friend_ cut off?" Paul chuckled and touched John's ear with his lips, earning a content sigh from his boyfriend.  
  
"Exactly," John muttered and let his right hand wander under Paul's shirt, stroking his soft skin. "Let's hope your Mum makes that delicious chocolate cake for my funeral."  
  
"She most definitely will."  
  
"The sad part is that I can't have any of it."  
  
Paul shifted a bit and kissed the corner of John's eye before pressing his lips on top of John's nose.  
  
"But I can have your piece."  
  
John agreed and found that it comforted him a bit. Yeah. At least Paul would get extra cake.  
  
There was something positive in every situation if you looked hard enough.

***~**~***

The car drive from the McCartney's to Mimi's house Mendips was a silent one. John had fallen into deep thoughts as he drove through familiar surroundings and Paul on the seat next to him couldn't escape his dream now that everything was so quiet. He felt like a nervous wreck and without a reason; everything was fine, so why did he feel like this?  
  
He thought about the dream and glanced at John, biting his lower lip. John didn't seem to notice him, either thinking too hard or concentrating on the road unnecessarily much. John's profile had always fascinated Paul, with the curved nose and thin lips. There was something in it that no one else could possibly have, something that gave Paul tightness in his stomach and warmth in his heart. It was something that Paul had missed on all the girls he'd ever dated and had found on John.  
  
He sighed faintly and turned to look out of the window. He would have to do something with his thoughts about anal, but what, he didn't know. He felt a bit irritated and then right after that frustrated, because he didn't know where his feelings came from. He almost felt ready to break something. Maybe George's neck, just for fun.  
  
The car turned to the Menlove Avenue, John's home street, and the speed of the car lowered remarkably. Paul looked at John again and then put his hand on the man's thigh, squeezing gently. John threw him a glance and then smiled hesitantly.  
  
"I'm okay," he muttered and looked back at the road. "I can do this."  
  
Paul pushed his worries about sex on the background and kept his hand on John's thigh. There were no problems. He was fine. Everything was fine. There was _nothing_ to worry about. John could do this.

***~**~***

"I can't do this," John whispered urgently. Paul rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"You can," he answered, looking at his boyfriend pointedly. John groaned and buried his head in his hands.  
  
"We're both gonna die," he moaned and Paul chuckled.  
  
"Nah, I'll be out of the door the minute she pulls out a gun. Shall we go?"  
  
"Honey," John lifted his head and met Paul's eyes, his expression serious and grave, "she doesn't _need_ a gun."  
  
And with that he sorted the car, leaving Paul sit in a horrified silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those who believe Mimi will slay them don't do anything, those who have faint hope that the guys will survive leave comments and those who hope but don't really think that they will, just press the kudos button. Idk i wouldn't do anything. Mimi is a dragon


	7. George And Ringo Go To A Park To Feed Ducks

Mimi almost slammed the door on John's face. She also almost murdered him with a shoe and _almost_ buried him on the backyard, but luckily only almost. At least that was what she wanted to do, regarding her expression when she stared at her nephew and said with the coldest voice ever,  
  
"I was wondering whether I'd ever see you again, _John_ , seeing as your _ex_ -girlfriend _Cynthia_ told me everything."  
  
John paled all over and looked like he was about to faint. And he would've probably turned and ran all the way to South Africa if Paul hadn't magically appeared behind his back and held him in his place.  
  
"Good morning Mrs. Smith," he grinned widely and tried to look charming. He most likely failed. "We're sorry to interrupt your nice, peaceful Saturday, but we thought it would be the best to come and say hello, as we don't come to Liverpool so often."  
  
"Hmm," Mimi sounded like a volcano ready to explode. "At least he has some manners. Tell me one reason, John Lennon, why I should let you two in."  
  
"Uh," John said weakly and Paul's hand tightened its hold on the back of his jacket (no leather today, as Mimi might have a fit). "We brought you some chocolate?" he asked with an unsure voice and lifted the said chocolate box in his hand.  
  
"Did you now," Mimi snorted, and John almost dropped the box. And then the terrifying woman on the doorstep turned and walked inside the house, leaving the door open. Paul and John glanced at each other.  
  
"I guess that means 'come in'," Paul whispered and John shrugged, breathing in deeply.  
  
"Guess I should've known that Cynthia's passed by," he mumbled and Paul pressed his lips into a tight line, trying not to show the thrill of red jealousy that shot through him at the mention of John's ex-girlfriend; it shouldn't be his weak point, not after all this time, at least, but he couldn't help it. A part of him was still wondering if he was giving John all that the man needed. It was true that John had said that he didn't like anal, but maybe it had been only with George. Who said that he wouldn't miss the feeling of, er, some sort of, well, _thrusting_.  
  
Paul shook his head empty of these thoughts, deciding that this was not the moment for them. Now the most important task was to get out of this house alive; after some tea and biscuits, of course.  
  
"Yeah," he muttered back, applying some pressure to John's lower back, urging him inside Mendips, as the house was called. "Why, is another thing to ask."  
  
"Don't worry," John said from the corner of his mouth when they stepped inside and he closed the door behind them, "we'll probably find out sooner or later. Probably sooner. When she gets going."  
  
"She can't be really worse than my Mum," Paul answered when he took off his jacket and hung it in a closet next to the door. John looked hesitant.  
  
"I wouldn't be so sure. You didn't see her when I got kicked out of the upper secondary school. I still sometimes wake up at night remembering it."  
  
"Oh, right," Paul mumbled and took the chocolate while John left his own jacket on the closet. They took off their shoes too and then, side by side, walked further in.  
  
Mendips was an old semi-detached house, built in the 30's. It consisted of two floors and it was situated not very far from Paul's parents' house. In the area there were mainly middle-class homes and it was very popular among families with children. When John told Paul he had grown up there, the response had been 'oh God. You're posh', to which had John answered, 'such ah splendid weahthah todeay, is it not deaaar???' and Paul had almost hit him with a shopping bag.  
  
Paul looked curiously around him. The furniture was kind of old-ish, some of it probably dating back to the 60's. However, in the living room to the right of the entrance there was a modern television, and the next room had a computer, even if it seemed quite old.  
  
"That your first computer?" he asked John, who was currently looking at an old photo on the wall with disgust. The photo showed a young boy with a pink plush toy that might have been a pig but looked more like a cow.  
  
"What?" the man no longer the plush toy boy turned to look at the said object from where he stood in the hallway. "Yeah. Got it when I was 18."  
  
"She didn't let you have one before?" Paul asked with wide eyes and John shook his head.  
  
"No, she told me it would ruin my brain. But I actually almost built that one. Got the parts from friends and then when I got it working she said okay, we can have it for a week before she throws it away."  
  
"But she never did," Paul answered with a smile and John grinned back warmly, his eyes glinting with amusement.  
  
"No, she never did. But it works still, I think..." he muttered almost to himself and walked past Paul into the room, going to examine the machine a bit closer. Paul returned to checking out the house; the stairs leading up were on the left side of the hallway, on his right was the living room and the dining room. When he walked into the dining room he could hear Mimi working in the kitchen, mumbling something with a quite angry voice. Every now and then could be heard the sentence 'he is in _so_ much trouble'. Paul guessed that John was in trouble.  
  
He looked at the photos on top of the fireplace and came to the conclusion that Mimi couldn't hate John that much, seeing as there were at least ten different framed photos of him at different ages. Paul immediately decided that the one where he was about three with a big ice cream all over his face was the best. Not much had changed, it seemed.  
  
"Mimi!" John suddenly yelled and made Paul jump and almost hit his elbow on the dining table. "Have you used the computer lately?!"  
  
"Good manners include _not_ shouting from one room to another," Mimi's answer was sour when she walked through the kitchen door with a tray in her hands, ready to serve tea. John grinned and moved the computer table a bit, so that he could fit between the machine and the wall.  
  
"How stupid of me," he said and started doing something with the hundred cables there were. "But, have you used it?"  
  
"It had some problems with the screen. Everything turned black and white," Mimi answered while taking the chocolate box from the table, opened it and put it back on the table. She then turned her sharp eyes on Paul (who stiffened from head to toe) and sighed.  
  
"Supposedly I have to treat you as a guest, then. Sit down, if you will."  
  
"Oh," Paul breathed and his body reacted, moved closer to the table before his brain even managed to register the plead (the order?). "Thank you, ma'am," he smiled blandly and a bit shyly as well and sat down, pulling the chair under him carefully, so that he wouldn't make any awful screeching sounds.  
  
"Hm," said Mimi again, not moving her gaze. Paul swallowed and looked quickly at John, who had now wholly disappeared behind the table and pile of cables. This was probably his way of avoiding the upcoming 'yes Mimi, I have a boyfriend' -talk.  
  
"John," Mimi then called, still staring at Paul (he was now sweating cold), "would you be so kind and join us at the table?"  
  
"What?" John asked, his head peeping from under the computer. "What? Yeah, yes of course," he then answered hurriedly seeing the situation Paul was in. He crawled out from his hiding place and straightened his turtle neck shirt before sitting in a chair next to Paul.  
  
A silence fell over them before Mimi, who was still standing, turned and walked once more into the kitchen, muttering about bringing sugar.  
  
The moment her back disappeared into the kitchen John's hand sprang into action and took a hold of Paul's, showing him how his fingers shook all over.  
  
"Hey now," Paul whispered as quietly as he could, "it's alright. She actually seems quite nice."  
  
"No, no, you don't know," John breathed and was now paling slightly again. "This is her plan. First she feeds us and makes us comfortable and then, when you least wait for it, she strikes. With her words, her eyes, the kitchen knife, hell, even with the bloody chocolate box if there's no other weapon in sight!"  
  
Paul tilted his head and glanced at the chocolate box, suddenly filled with doubts that Mimi had somehow managed to poison the delicious sweets before putting them in their reach.  
  
"But maybe she... Maybe she's so happy to see you that she's decided to let it go?" Paul whispered and John grimaced, shaking his head vigorously.  
  
"No, no, no no no. No. You don't know her, Paul. That face, that expression she's got, that's the look she wears before killing. _That is the face._ " he hissed before they heard footsteps coming closer, making them both jump. John let go of Paul's hand and turned back to face the opposite side of the table, offering a shaky smile when Mimi stepped into the room. Mimi's eyes tried to burn a hole in John's head and Paul swallowed hard. The tiny hopes he had had flew through the air and slammed violently against the wall, then slowly drained onto the floor like jelly. It was like killing a mosquito with a baseball bat.  
  
"So," Mimi started with a honey voice when she sat down, "take some tea, boys."  
  
"Thank you," Paul nodded and offered a wide smile, taking John's cup and pouring some tea on it. Then he dropped two sugar cubes in it and gave it to John, then prepared his own tea. He didn't really like sugar in his own tea, but put one in his cup. Maybe it would give him an embolism and his blood wouldn't flow out so fast in case Mimi cut his head off. He could still make it to the hospital. Maybe.  
  
For a while they drank in silence, before Mimi broke it, eyeing the two of them with an expression that lions often wore when prowling for zebras.  
  
"So, John, how is your work in the _cable_ shop?" she asked with that same sweet voice that woke all Paul's of instincts to run away. It was _just_ like when his mum got that voice.  
  
"It's going fine," John answered too cheerfully, his lips stretched to a mad smile that probably hurt a _lot_. "We have a new worker, actually!"  
  
"Is that so?" Mimi didn't even sound interested. "Does it help, then? Not that I assume your job would be _difficult_ , as all you do is _organise_ some electric chords and _smile_ at the customers..."  
  
Paul winced. He had doubted it a bit when John told him that his aunt absolutely _loathed_ John's work, but apparently he had been telling the truth. Every word that Mimi said literally oozed with disdain.  
  
"He helps a lot!" John was still keeping up that cheerful voice that promised Paul he would be very much grumpy later on; there were only so many hours that the man could stay in a good mood. When the meter was empty, he became the Frankenstein's monster. "He's turned out to be dead interestin' too. We've spent a lot of time together this week, Stu and I."  
  
"I see," Mimi's face was blank. "And how does your _companion_ here tolerate it?" her sharp eyes turned on Paul. Both John and Paul jumped a bit and Paul wished he could have held John's hand. Instead he started balling the hem of the tablecloth with his fingers.  
  
"I- I really-" Paul stuttered but couldn't find anything to say. What could he say? That it didn't bother him at all? That he wasn't jealous? John hadn't spent that much time with Stuart, at least Paul thought so. At work it was only natural if they talked together during the day, right? And John still came home at the same time as before.  
  
But at the same time a small part of him, a tug in the pit of his stomach started wondering why John had started talking about Stuart every day, and all the things he said somehow contained a synonym for the word 'marvellous'. Stuart was altogether a fabulous, splendid, amazing, gear and _excellent_ guy. Paul doubted John said those things about him. A tiny flame of jealousy flared up without him being able to stop it.  
  
"I don't mind," he finally said after a painfully long time where he just opened and closed his mouth, both his boyfriend and the scary aunt staring at him with very similar eyes but a very different expression in them.  
  
"Which brought to me mind," John said suddenly and Paul's head snapped on him, happy to look at him for once, not having to decide whether to meet Mimi's eagle gaze or hide under the table. "Jeff ain't there next Thursday. I thought ye could maybe come an' pass by. Stu'd like to meet ye."  
  
"Language!" Mimi's voice boomed over the table like a firework exploding and John started snickering helplessly, making it clear to Paul that his boyfriend was slowly losing his mind. John _never_ spoke with that much of a scouse accent; he had tidied it down and while you still heard from his speech where he came from, it wasn't something that would be brought up during discussion. And when it came to Paul, it was almost the same. Both he and John had mastered the perfect Queen's English.  
  
Of course, then there was George who consisted of grating 'r's, vague vowels and slurry consonants. But George was George. No need for further explanation, really.  
  
"Yeah, sorry," John breathed and eyed the biscuit on the table like it was planning on eating him. Paul sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. For some reason, he felt slight irritation in his heart. Here they were, sitting and trying to hide behind the teapot because they couldn't be brave enough to get things done. He didn't want to give Mimi the upper hand. The sooner it was over, the sooner they could forget this ever happened and go on with their lives (if they had any when they were done here).  
  
"Mrs. Smith," he started with a clear voice before his brain could catch up and say NO very loudly and refuse to get any work done here or there or anywhere ever, "I assume we have something to discuss."  
  
John turned wide eyes on him that told Paul that 1) John had guessed from the tone in his voice that shit was going down and fast and also that 2) he didn't think that this was a good idea _at all_.  
  
Paul groaned inwardly and forced the urge of saying something to his boyfriend _very_ sharply go down. The irritation started pooling and he couldn't even say why. Maybe this was one of the moments when John annoyed him the most; not being able to get anything done and leaving all the responsibility on Paul's shoulders. Sometimes he wondered if John would have ever actually got _anywhere_ if Cynthia hadn't been there, kicking his arse. And now it was Paul's turn to do it.  
  
It was ironic that he was now supposed to tell John's aunt that they were a happy couple when the irritation towards _his other half_ started growing in his chest. A few moments before he had been ready to comfort John and he, of course, understood his fear. But Mimi _knew_ already; if she _really_ would've wanted to disown John, she would have probably done it already. Hell, Paul had had to do all the work with his parents too! John could've even _tried_ to act a bit more adult-like.  
  
"I guess we do, then," Mimi sighed and sipped her tea slowly, not letting her eyes leave Paul's. Paul swallowed but then frowned, feeling anger bubble in his stomach. John should've helped him. John should've been the one to do this, not him, not now _or_ ever-  
  
Fingers wrapped around his own hand that was now furiously yanking the tablecloth. Paul gasped without being able to stop himself and his eyes snapped away from Mimi's, turned to look at John whose posture was stiff and face pale and contorted. He was staring at Mimi, not even glancing at Paul, but his hand was holding Paul's and it was warm, and steady, and suddenly Paul felt weak.  
  
What had made him think all that? Why on earth had he thought such things?  
  
Of course John was always there. And it was their deal. Paul started the stuff that was too difficult for John, but John took the lead moments after and carried it until the goal was reached.  
  
He would've cried if it wouldn't have probably made John laugh so hard that his ribs would break. Wouldn't be very nice in this situation, that.  
  
"Yeah, we do," John spoke and his voice wasn't shaking either. Paul blinked and squeezed John's hand harder, pride filling his chest.  
  
He couldn't understand his feelings. One moment he was ready to strangle his boyfriend, the next he was almost crying because it felt like John actually _knew_ what Paul needed at the moment. He was probably just so stressed about... something.  
  
 _'I'll thank him later,'_ Paul thought and bit his lip and held his gaze on John, not caring if his constant staring bothered Mimi somehow.  
  
"I'd like to know first," John then continued, leaning on the table with his other hand, the other clearly in Paul's lap, holding his hand, "what Cyn has told you."  
  
"Ah," Mimi lowered the tea cup on the table, reaching out to take a chocolate. "She came here to bring some of the clothes you had forgotten."  
  
"How's that even possible," Paul blurted out before managing to think at all. Everyone looked at him. "I mean, because I thought you took everything with you when you... left the flat." He looked quickly away from Mimi and kept his eyes on John, the older man squeezing his fingers in a manic grip.  
  
"There might've been something in the laundry basket that I didn't notice," John muttered and Paul nodded slowly, placing his other hand on top of John's. Silence fell for a short time before Mimi sighed and continued:  
  
"So, I asked what had happened. Or, actually she started crying and blubbering about it the moment I let her in." Her face was sour and the expression she held was slightly disgusted, as if even the thought of John's ex crying on her doorstep gave her feelings of disapproval. "And she told me that you were actually a _homosexual_..."  
  
John winced but didn't say anything.  
  
"...and that you had left her because you had _fallen_ for some _man_ after knowing him for _three weeks_ ," Mimi's nostrils flared and for a moment Paul thought she was going to transform into a Smaug in a flower dress. John on his right side opened his mouth to probably say something like 'uh', but Mimi didn't let him get a word.  
  
"Since then, I have been _waiting_ for you to wake up from your _cowardice_ and _explain_ yourself." Mimi crossed her hands over her chest and John seemed to get slightly smaller under her gaze. Paul examined the scene closely and came to a conclusion that it was just the same as when his mum made his dad lose his bones. He had to try that expression one time and see if it worked on John even when he was eating Paul's biscuits.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry," John muttered and glanced down at his and Paul's hands that were still entwined with each other. And then he lifted them up and placed them on the table, between the two of them. Mimi's face was scandalised and Paul swallowed hard. She would strike any minute now, probably.  
  
"The thing is, Mimi..." John hesitated for a moment, "that... that what Paul and I have, it's... well, I _can't_ say special 'cos every couple in the world thinks that," he offered a toothy grin at Paul and Paul suppressed a smile, both at John's expression and his way too sappy words that would have them both vomiting later on. "But... it's definitely something. Something worth having."  
  
His eyes dug into Mimi's and Mimi's lips turned down, her gaze sharp and ruthless. John swallowed, but continued still, his voice getting steadier with every uttered word.  
  
"I know I love Paul. And, when we got together, well... The relationship with Cynthia had already stopped working. Maybe it had never worked. And I had been thinking of how to get out months before Paul came. And then, when Paul was there, I just..."  
  
They looked at each other, John and Paul. Paul smiled; John squeezed his hand gently and Mimi's eyes stared at their entwined fingers, her face unreadable.  
  
"You took the chance," Paul mumbled and John smiled, if not a bit shakily, gazing at Paul adoringly.  
  
Mimi coughed and they both jumped and turned to look at her. She eyed at them for a few moments in silence, and then stood up.  
  
"You may show him the house," she said, her voice still and emotionless. John's eyes widened slightly. Mimi crossed her arms over her chest and stood, and Paul could feel the coldness radiating from her.  
  
"And then I want you two out."  
  
Her voice was freezing and her expression made of stone.  
  
John got on his feet without another word, dragging Paul with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments very welcome (ish) (i know it takes a lot of effort to press the kudos button. I do. I am sorry for all of you who'd like to press it. I know it's hard. I believe in you)


	8. George And Ringo Eat Pizza

Paul watched as John walked a few steps ahead of him, hands deep in his pockets and shoulders slumped. Slight wind was blowing his hair and his step was heavy, his posture tense.  
  
Mimi hadn't said another word. She had watched from the window as they parted, after John had introduced Mendips to Paul. Paul had looked out of the window at the view that John had been staring at for most of his childhood. Paul had sat on the bed John had used for over a decade. Paul had stared at the same ceiling John had during all those years.  
  
John had stood in the middle of his old room, his mouth pressed into a thin line, his face pale and hands curled up into fists. He had muttered that it was nothing serious, and that 'she's always like that'.  
  
He hadn't uttered a whole sentence after they left his former home.

They had driven straight into the centre, left the car somewhere and started walking towards their favourite pizza restaurant because they were supposed to meet George and Ringo there. The two had probably had a lazy afternoon while Paul and John had sweat their arses off. Paul gritted his teeth and wondered whether John was up to answering questions or not. He supposed the latter option was true.  
  
It wasn't really Mimi's words that had hurt him, but John's behaviour. He understood, of course; he was as well a bit shocked and hurt by his dad's words, but he knew how to handle that. His dad would come to his mind later on, at least after his mum had had a proper word with him. Jim might've been already waiting for them to come home so that they could start planning the wedding ceremony. And he would probably be ready to suggest some baby names, too. And tell them to get a proper house. And proper jobs. And pinch John's cheek while he was going at it.  
  
Paul paused for a moment and thought about it. Yeah. Dad would definitely do that.  
  
But, yeah, so he understood why John was acting the way he was. Trying to be all manly and strong and stuff, not letting people in, dwelling on his dark thoughts and finally ending up hurting himself. He understood John, but that didn't mean he wouldn't have been hurt by John's _rejection_.  
  
He wasn't even _holding Paul's hand_ , which was something they always did in public; partly to show off, partly because they had once lost an unfortunate bet where George had been the opponent. Partly because they loved the feeling of the other's hand, assuring them that they were both there and that they were both equally daft.  
  
Paul blinked few times hard, not believing he could miss someone who was right in front of him. All the things he had to go through for being in a happy, trouble-free relationship..!  
  
John's old Nokia rang in Paul's pocket. How it had ended up there, he wasn't sure, but then he realised he had taken John's jacket and John had his. He would've probably blushed if it wasn't for the situation and the grey atmosphere that was wrapped around them. John didn't turn, didn't even seem to register the sound. Paul fished the mobile out and glanced at the screen.  
  
"Stuart's calling," he called out, holding the phone in front of him as if to prove that it was actually Stuart calling. John slowed down his steps, turned his head and Paul's heart ached at the emptiness he saw in John's eyes. He wished he could do something. John needed someone close to him, which was sure. But how close, Paul wasn't sure. He didn't know if he should've asked again what the other was thinking.  
  
John took the phone and answered the call with a friendly sounding ''Ello mate', continuing to walk without paying Paul any attention. Paul bit his lip and resigned, started walking again.  
  
Bad days and moments were part of a relationship, but he would've thought of this day as something else. At least they would've tried to go through it together. Not like this, walking in a duo-queue, where one was talking on the phone and also apparently _laughing_ , and the other being mute, invisible, _nonexistent_. Paul felt his lip quiver, the whole day's stress falling on him at once, leaving him tired and feeling numb to the very core of his bones.  
  
"Well, I'm actually in Liverpool at the moment," John's voice reached his ears (they never had difficulties in catching it) and Paul swallowed, stuffed his hands deep in his (John's) pockets. He found the car keys there and started playing with them with the fingers of his right hand, his left grabbing the inside of the pocket almost hysterically. He always held John's hand with his left one.  
  
"No, well, yeah. I'm still alive," John spoke now, if not a bit gravely. Paul could hear Stuart's voice on the line and he wondered a bit bitterly, why was it so easy to talk to your new co-worker about your deep problems, when your _boyfriend_ apparently wasn't good enough of a listener???  
  
"She got really mad. I think. But I don't think she's gonna disown me, 'cos she said I could show him the house. That shows that she still loves me 'n stuff, but acted angry just for the status. She's like that," John said _cheerfully_ and Paul felt his throat closing, both of his hands curling up into fists. Another piece of information that John _hadn't_ remembered to mention, and here Paul had been, worrying away his health and life, and _still_ John was telling this stuff to Stuart. It was so unfair. And right in front of Paul, too. Didn't John understand how much it _hurt_??  
  
"Nah. She just gets me so worked up with so little. I think it's the childhood traumas or something," John laughed an open, free laugh. "I'm not usually that easily irritated."  
  
Wrong. He was. He just didn't know. And Paul didn't usually care, because he got irritated by the same things. By George, mainly.  
  
Maybe that was why they hadn't had any big fights. They had been so busy fighting against George, in their small flat, that they hadn't had time to fight against each other. George topped the flaws of both of them easily. George was the biggest flaw in their life. And so they had been on the same side for this whole time, talking about how irritating George was and bonding over it.  
  
Paul swallowed when he thought about it and realised that it was actually exactly like that. And then he had a thought that made him stop dead on his feet, staring in front of him, fear entering his body.  
  
What if they had become so close only because of George?  
  
What if it wasn't love then that he was feeling, but something less strong?  
  
What if it wasn't love?  
  
He lifted his head and saw that John had continued walking, without even noticing that Paul had stopped. What if their relationship was just actually something that George had built, and there was nothing real in their feelings for each other? What if John was, like Jim had said, only _using_ him, getting a roof on his head, getting food, a cheaper rent, and good sex on the side? What if this all was just one big lie?  
  
But why would John go this far just because of a lie? Why would he _come out_ to his aunt if this was a temporary choice? It made no sense.  
  
Paul was still staring at John's back that was slowly moving farther and farther away. Just yesterday they had been so _happy_ , and _together_. What had happened? They had fucking _confessed their love to each other last night_. How could... how could things go down like this right after _that_???  
  
Paul thought about it. He thought how John had smiled at him this morning and said 'I'd forgotten. I love you'. He had smiled at Paul like Paul was the only thing in the world that was worth having, and he had held Paul close to him like he was precious. Paul thought about John last night, when they had lied on the floor, and kissed, and felt so good. And he compared those memories with the present.  
  
He was crying before he knew. In fact, he only registered he was actually doing it when he felt one of the tears slide into the corner of his mouth, and he tasted salt as he moved his lips.  
  
He closed his eyes and tried to hold down a sob, clutching John's jacket around him like it would've been John. Like he would've held John if he could have. If John had just _let him_. If he hadn't pushed Paul _away_.  
  
The sob came anyway.

***~**~***

_"And how's Paul then? He isn't taking it all too bad?"_ Stuart asked, the faint sizzling sound that came from somewhere on the phone telling that his mission of making scrambled eggs was progressing.  
  
"Well, I'm not sure. I mean, sure, he's fine, I guess," John chewed his lip as he walked forward, his left hand on his phone, his right in his pocket. It was Paul's jacket, and John had only noticed it few minutes ago. He felt a bit ashamed because he'd accidentally taken it, but it had also calmed him down. He had been so worked up by Mimi, annoyed because she hadn't even given Paul a chance to actually tell about himself, and annoyed because, well, it was Mimi. Mimi had a skill of making John feel like a 13 years old boy being scowled at all over again. And he hated that feeling, and since they left the house he had been dwelling on the disappointment inside him. But, it was just his aunt being herself and he knew that she'd come around some time soon. She would call him in a month or so. Maybe in three.  
  
The realisation of Paul's jacket on him had snapped him out of his foul mood, making him realise that it didn't really matter what Mimi thought, because he still had Paul. If he breathed in deeply through his nose, he could smell Paul's faint scent, and there was nothing in the world that was better. He had been inhaling the shoulder of the jacket for the whole time, Stuart laughing at him whenever he heard it through the phone.  
  
_"You guess?"_ Stuart sounded a bit worried and John bit down his lip so hard he tasted blood. Shouldn't have done that, probably. Paul was going to have a fit.  
  
"Yeah," he sighed and shrugged, even if Stuart couldn't see it. "I mean, he seems fine, but I don't know... There was something off with him when we were in Mendips. It's like he'd gone through this whole roller coaster of feelings of irritation towards something. Right after he said that we should talk with Mimi. Then he looked ready to start killing. But it disappeared as fast as it had come," John kicked a stone and watched it roll in front of him, readying himself to kick it again. "I think that he's got a lot of stress, 'cos of this mornin', and then because of Mimi. But he doesn't show it and tries to stay brave because of me. Or then he doesn't even realise that he's stressed and nervous and then he starts getting all these weird thoughts and starts breaking down all of sudden."  
  
He stopped for a minute and blinked.  
  
"Yeah!" he then said and could hear more sizzling, probably when Stuart added some paprika. He liked paprika with eggs. This lad was definitely a worthy friend.  
  
_"What?"_ Stuart asked, if not a bit absent-minded, and John went on, still blinking more often than necessary.  
  
"He's stressed, but he doesn't know it. He really can't sort out his feelings," he shook his head and he heard Stuart sigh something about 'I know you've got that fond look on', which he chose to ignore.  
  
"He can't sort out his feelings, and then he starts getting the thoughts that he normally wouldn't have, because the stress makes his brain go over-active. Then he freaks out because he has these weird thoughts and thinks there's something wrong with him. He starts worrying about these _thoughts_ , and _then_ the thoughts start developing themselves, and then he's suddenly on the verge of a mental breakdown. That, plus the stress, and then that stupid feeling he sometimes has that he's not enough for me-"  
  
He heard the faintest sound behind him, far behind him, and he stopped like he'd met a wall.  
  
And turned.  
  
He stared at Paul who was standing on the street, some 30 yards away, standing, and crying. Or, trying not to cry, but failing with a master's degree.  
  
John felt something cold drop into the pit of his stomach.  
  
"Stu, gotta go," he said hurriedly, "enjoy your eggs!" And then he flipped the phone away, pressed the red button and stuffed it into his jeans pocket when already running, and he ran towards Paul, and he felt the cold thing in his stomach spread and make him shiver when he reached the crying man.  
  
He stopped right on time so he wouldn't crash violently into Paul, and he breathed shakily and lifted his hands, wrapped his arms around the other man and pulled him against his body, clutching him like his life depended on it.  
  
"Shit, Oh dear God, Paul, I'm so sorry," was the first thing he could say and he pressed Paul's head into his shoulder, stroked Paul's hair and squeezed the lad, like it would help in any way if he suffocated. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you'd had it on all this time, oh my..." he breathed deeply and felt Paul shake against him while letting out weird kinds of hiccups.  
  
"I didn't think about how she affected you, I'm sorry, so, so--"  
  
"Y-you wouldn't even l-look at-t m-me," Paul's muffled voice came out, accompanied by several violent sobs and John blinked, buried his head in Paul's hair.  
  
"I- I wasn't aware, I-" he tried to force his brain into thinking, but he had no idea what to really say. Any other day this thing would've been shrugged off and it wouldn't have been anything too serious, but now Paul was really being _hysterical_. And John had no idea what to say without making him a) cry more or b) get very very angry or c) both. He couldn't tell Paul that he was just imagining things and it was the stress that had caused it.  
  
Paul was now babbling something about how John didn't really love him and how George had been the only thing keeping them together and something equally as confusing. His hands were grabbing John's shirt through the open jacket and his voice broke and shook with the sobs that wrecked through his body. John blinked and started to soothingly stroke Paul's back with his other hand. He was sure that there was no getting out of this situation without being awfully sappy.  
  
"You know I'd never... I'd never let you down like that," he muttered and cringed, half waiting for Paul to push him away and murder him there and then for saying such things. Usually they tried to avoid too romantic words like those would give plague.  
  
"And you know Mimi always makes me go like that. You know that, I've told you. And, and I was really worked up and didn't think, but then I smelled your jacket and it helped. And I'd never ever leave you. Or say that I love you when it wasn't true. I really, really love you. 'Cos you complete me, y'know? And I know you so well that I could _say_ , I _knew_ that there was something wrong but I was still stupid enough to not think about it before it was too late, and I'm so sorry for it, and you're a perfect human being and I would never survive without you, and, fuck, Paul, I'm gonna get holes in my teeth if I go on???" his voice turned desperate and Paul was shaking, but he wasn't crying anymore.  
  
No.  
  
The bastard was _laughing_.  
  
And then Paul's head was there, and his mouth had widened into a smile, but tears were still very visible on his cheeks, and he held John's shirt in his hands before starting to wipe his face.  
  
"I'm gonna have to ask you to stop 'cos otherwise I'll honestly break up with you," he hiccupped and John sighed with relief, all fear that he'd held for Paul disappearing as fast as it had come.  
  
"Paul!" he protested and reached out with his hands, touched Paul's elbows. "You can't just brush this thing off like that!"  
  
"I'm not brushin' it off," Paul sighed and rubbed his eyes, last waves of shudders going through him. "I'm just... I don't know what came over me. I'm sorry," he sniffed and John's heart ached.  
  
"You're an idiot," he let out a deep breath and Paul chuckled faintly, his fingers finding John's.  
  
"Can we talk about this in the evening? I don't wanna miss the pizza," he muttered quietly and John knew that Paul's thoughts hadn't settled down yet. The lad was just pulling the cover, once again hiding his feelings behind a layer of a smile. John knew that Paul thought that he was quite expressive and didn't hide many feelings, but actually it was the other way around. Most of Paul's dark, deeply insecure thoughts were locked somewhere that even John couldn't reach it; maybe George would be able to, with a bit of persuasion, but John still wasn't on that level of trust. Or then he just wasn't pushing hard enough.  
  
"Yeah," he nodded and pulled Paul a bit closer, pressed his lips against Paul's forehead. Paul breathed deeply and John wrapped himself around the younger man, and they stayed there, hugging each other, and just relishing the feeling of the other's body.  
  
And they stayed until George called to hear if Mimi had actually killed them or why weren't they at the pizza place yet??????? And so they were forced to part and start walking again, glancing at each other every now and then with a smile. John didn't let go of Paul's hand anymore.

***~**~***

_"What if our feelings are only made up by George? What if it's not really love? What if George is the only thing keeping us together???"_  
  
John closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose. He turned his head and felt his cheek press against Paul's dark hair. He started drawing a slow circle with his index finger on where his hand met Paul's skin, his arm wrapped around the lad.  
  
Paul's breathing was steady and deep, familiar and safe. It was soothing to know that he had managed to fall asleep as fast as he usually would. John had been a bit tense about it, worrying that Paul would lose his beauty sleep because of his thoughts. Fortunately it had gone another way.  
  
The room was dark and there was no light coming from outside either. John could see small, colourful patterns on the inside of his eyelids, creating an army of small sticks with lit heads moving steadily to the right. He couldn't have explained the image in any other way. He tried to count the sticks, but there were too many of them. For some reason it brought a division of dwarves to his mind.  
  
He imagined Thorin Oakenshield's head to one of the sticks. It would've been cool to be a dwarf. He could eat as much as he liked without it being looked upon. He would be fashionably round. And he could have a cool arse -beard. He would've liked a beard but Paul opposed him. The lad claimed that he didn't want to have beard scratches all over his face and body.  
  
_"What if George is the only thing keeping us together???"_  
  
John bit his lip and frowned, opening his eyes. He could see the ceiling hovering above them, the lamp barely visible. He moved his legs restlessly and brought his free hand to rest on top of his chest, massaging his skin without really registering it.  
  
Well. Paul had certainly given him something to think about.  
  
John knew that Paul worried in vain. Even George couldn't create such strong feelings between them two. John wasn't that kind of a person who let other people tell him what to do (with the exception of Mimi and Paul, of course). If there was any doubt that George would have made up this love that John felt for Paul, it would soon get rubbed away by John's rational thoughts. George might have been the Great Mind behind their relationship, as they wouldn't have even met without the guy, but that was all. After the first month they had already shaken off the influence of George in their thoughts and built up a steady, happy relationship on their own.  
  
So that was not the thing that bothered John. He was worried about Paul. The way he had thought during the whole day had been irrational and certainly caused by hidden stress. But what was the thing that could have caused the stress?  
  
John was sure that Paul wasn't aware of it. The younger man could only see the outlet, and then he would start stressing about it. But there was something that had made all this happen, if only John knew what it was...  
  
It couldn't be related to their love confession. There was nothing in it that could have made Paul secretly stressed. Or maybe he had started wondering if John was actually serious with it? Or then he had started doubting himself. Hmm.  
  
But then there had been that... thing with the computer. Paul _had_ behaved quite weirdly and John was really curious about what the lad had been wanking for. But how could something like that be the source for such a huge stress that Paul was enduring now? John couldn't say.  
  
He felt his eyes starting to close and he yawned, exhaustion finally catching up with him. It had surely been an eventful day. He was still a bit unsure about Mimi and her following behaviour, but surely she couldn't be mad forever? Right?  
  
Then there was the problem with Jim. His words had surely hurt Paul. John didn't know the elder McCartney that well that he could say if it was only temporary, but he certainly hoped so. At least they could still sleep in his house (mostly because of Mary, John guessed). But then again, he was sure that the old man would come around sometime soon; he didn't seem the type to stand in the way of his son's happiness.  
  
Or then he would be forever sure that Paul was lying of the whole 'happiness' thing and did everything he could to have John assassinated at work without anyone realising until they found his body among the cardboard boxes Jeff kept around just 'for decoration'. (John wasn't so sure what that meant. Maybe it was abstract modern art. Or something.)  
  
He would have to talk to Paul and see what was bothering him. Really dig deep. Or then he could ask George, who probably knew anyway. There was nothing he didn't know.  
  
He felt sleep slowly overcome him and he let a final deep sigh when everything became hazy and dreams took over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously don't know what's wrong with Paul. He's hysteric all the time. I can't explain it. I'm sorry
> 
> Kudos and comments are always nice!


	9. George Is Back In The Game

Sunday came and so came the time for their departure as well. The morning was quiet, everybody sleeping in and enjoying their soft hotel-like beds. When they were eating breakfast Jim was missing, but Mary assured them that everything was right and that her husband had had something important to do in the city. Paul had just bit his lip and nodded, his eyes slightly huger than normally. John had clutched at his hand and they had shared a silent glance.  
  
They packed up their stuff and had everything ready when Jim came home and announced that he had just reserved them a table from a restaurant and that they were to be there in an hour. Mary beamed and disappeared into the Monster Box, spring in her walk. George and Ringo checked the amount of money in their wallets with worried lines in their forehead. John and Paul sneaked upstairs into Paul's old room and shared a moment of panicked breathing with words of 'he can't kill me in a place full of people, right?' (The answer being: "Yes. Yes he can.")  
  
Lunch at the restaurant was actually pleasant. George and Ringo kept Jim occupied in a chat where the two of them talked rubbish about house repairing and Jim corrected them with a sour face, but with an amused glint in his eyes. Paul was engaged in a conversation with his mother, their voices hushed and Mary's hand on top of Paul's for the whole time, her expression emphatic and understanding. John sat between Paul and Ringo and looked torn between staying quiet for the whole meal or joining Ringo and George in their attempt to keep Jim's mind away from _certain_ things.  
  
"Tell me then, Harrison Jr., how you plan on keeping your house together with your in-existent knowledge in, let's say, the repairing of electrical machines? This being only one of the countless things that you _don't know how to do_ ," Jim's eyebrows had risen high up on his forehead and he stared at George with narrowed eyes. George grinned and took a sip from his beer.  
  
"I don't have to know," he answered, still smiling. "I have connections."  
  
"Connections," Jim repeated blankly and behind his back Ringo made motions of cutting his own throat, implying that George was moving on dangerous waters. But then Jim's eyes widened slightly as he seemed to realise something.  
  
"Oh," he then said and turned directly to face John. "You mean Mr. Lennon."  
  
"Uh." George looked at John. So did Ringo. "I might."  
  
"I think he does," John swallowed and then forced a smile on his lips, eyeing Jim carefully. He knew that he was quite safe, with Mary being at the same table with them, but it didn't stop his heart from accelerating his pulse.  
  
"So are you actually any good with repair work or is it just a facade?" The old McCartney raised his eyebrows. (They were awfully arched. John had decided long ago that the laws of gravity didn't apply to the McCartney eyebrows.)  
  
"Um, I would dare to say that I am quite good. I repaired Paul's computer, that's how we met," John offered a slight smile and Jim nodded thoughtfully.  
  
"Do you have any education in the profession?" he then asked. John shook his head.  
  
"No. I learnt everything on my own. I took interest in mechanics when I was thirteen, I think. Now that I work in the store it's easy to engage in some stupid meaningless projects with the surplus objects. There's not much free time these days but whenever I have some I continue on building these different machines."  
  
"I see," Jim looked wondering. He frowned and then raised his voice in the direction of his wife.  
  
"Mary, didn't we think about getting a new computer?"  
  
Mary glanced up from her conversation with Paul and frowned, thinking.  
  
"I don't think you've ment--" she paused suddenly and then something bright entered her eyes.  
  
"Yes, yes. We did. But they are so awfully expensive..." she let out a (rather dramatic) sigh and shook her head miserably. "If only we could figure out another solution."  
  
"Hmm," Jim frowned and turned his piercing eyes on John again. "I wonder if you could make our computer a bit better? Update it a bit so it won't turn off itself anymore."  
  
"Oh." John stared at him and then slowly looked to Paul whose eyes had grown twice in size. "I... think? There shouldn't be any problem. If you want, of course. I'd be, uh, happy to help, yeah."  
  
"Excellent!" Mary yelled and Paul looked frightened. John blinked. "We can give it to you now and you can bring it back any time you boys have some extra time! Oh, this is _wonderful_!"  
  
John didn't know if it was wonderful or not. But when he and Paul discussed it later, he came to a conclusion that yes, it was wonderful.  
  
"It's Dad's way of saying that you're alright," Paul said quietly when they had cuddled up on their bed, back in London and in their flat. John had picked up Creature a bit earlier in the evening and then they all had sat together on the sofa, watching stupid cat videos from George's computer that had been connected to the television. George and Ringo had disappeared into their room at some point and Paul and John had decided to retire as well. Now the lights were off, the pajamas were on and the door was shut, and so they were in their own small private bubble that no one could invade. These moments in their relationship were the best ones.  
  
"It is? That is... good news," John frowned and Paul smiled, nuzzling John's cheek with his nose.  
  
"It is. Good news. By asking you he showed that he trusts your skills as a mechanic and that you're welcome to the family. At least I think it is so."  
  
"You think," John mumbled sleepily and Paul kissed his jaw lightly.  
  
"I think," he answered and John grinned sloppily, deciding that it was wonderful. And he turned his head and kissed Paul lazily on the mouth before losing consciousness to the world, still holding the equally tired young man in his arms.

***~**~***

George frowned at his computer screen and rubbed the base of his nose with his fingers. He didn't know what to do at all. He knew that the problems weren't over and he was sure that they would only get worse. Whatever had happened in Liverpool had stayed a secret between John and Paul, but George had a feeling that not everything had been solved. Paul had acted kind of weirdly and yeah, maybe it was just Mimi’s influence on people, but there was something else too… And there was still the concept of Paul being mysterious of his fantasies and John wondering about the blowjob.  
  
He didn't want to do anything. He wanted to follow and see what would happen if he just let his friends be, but he knew that nothing good would come out of it. They were such idiots that only by pressure from outside something would happen in their relationship. Hell, George was sure that he would need to push them two into marriage as well because they just couldn't possibly ask from the other because that would just be _gay_.  
  
George sighed.  
  
He was going to have that marriage. He had promised Jeff. And Ringo. And himself. And Mary too, actually, and Mary had promised Jim. So even if he had to lock the two of them into a basement for the rest of their lives, he was going to make sure that they would stay together. Which, in the end, would be much more difficult to do than one would think. Paul had a tendency to run from problems he couldn't solve. And John had a nasty habit of... well, not saying what he really wanted. And that combined would cause things. Bad things, if George didn't do anything.  
  
But _what_? Getting Cynthia out of the picture had been easy. But this was something entirely different.  
  
First he would have to find out what troubled Paul the most.  
  
He glanced at Ringo's sleeping form next to him and smiled.  
  
He would protect what was important to him. And that was the happiness of his friends.  
  
He shut down the computer and cuddled up next to Ringo, kissing the tip of the lad’s nose.  
  
The mission had started.

***~**~***

"Paul?" George's voice called with enthusiasm through the flat. Paul flinched and almost dropped the photo of George's mum he had been wiping with a cloth.  
  
"Aha?" he answered in return and placed the framed picture back on its place, on top of the chest of drawers in the hallway. His mind drifted back to the first time he'd seen John. He had thought the man so handsome.  
  
He now knew better. John was utterly, marvellously _stunning_.  
  
"Paul!" George appeared in a wild rush, his voice full of exclamation marks and bad influence on innocent souls around him. "I 'ave _news_!!!"  
  
"What now?" Paul tried to appear passive, but his insides were churning at the sight of his best friend. He should just ditch the man on the road. Maybe John would help.  
  
"I saw _you_ 'n _John_ KISSIN' in the _kitchen_ yesterday!!!"  
  
Paul rolled his eyes and threw the dirty cloth at George.  
  
"So what's the big deal? We see you and Ringo _fucking_ in bright daylight every so often."  
  
"But," George paused and _oh_ , Paul knew somehow that he was _fucked_ , George was planning something, _he knew that look_ -  
  
"Ye looked like," George's voice was sly and his eyes narrowing knowingly, "ye wanted so much _more_."  
  
His whisper echoed in the air like the Devil itself had taken over the small hallway and Paul jerked backwards, his eyes widening.  
  
"No," he said, his voice betraying him, "no, I mean, I have more. I don't know what you mean."  
  
"I've _seen_ , George hissed and the he grinned and winked. "My dildo collection is all yours!!!" his yell broke Paul's ears and before he had any change of saying anything more, had the younger lad disappeared, laughing somewhat manically.  
  
Paul gasped for breath, clutching his heart. He shared a look with George's mother's photo, full of exasperation.  
  
"How did such a kind woman like you give birth to such _monster_?" he whispered, his voice shaking. The photograph didn't answer. Maybe that was for the best.  
  
_"Ye wanted so much **more**."_  
  
He shuddered and leant against the wall, closing his eyes. No. He shouldn't think about that -shouldn't give George the upper hand. The bastard knew, that _bastard_ knew that something was bothering Paul, and he had rightly guessed that it had something to do with John. Paul would _not_ give in to George's coaxing, would not let his thoughts go-  
  
_-John's hands holding his head, his mouth against Paul's neck and it's so good, so good as he thrusts in and out, and Paul shakes and moans and calls John, and John bits down on his shoulder and Paul trembles as he gives himself to **John-** _  
  
"NO," Paul huffed and hit the wall, pressing his forehead against it. "No. Nonono. _No_!"  
  
The front door behind him opened and John stepped in, making Paul whimper quietly. The worst timing in the world!  
  
"Oh. Hi?" John raised his eyebrows, a slow smile spreading on his lips at the sight of seeing his boyfriend. "I came early. Jeff is pissed at the fridge in the backroom and me 'n Stu decided to leave him shouting at it."  
  
"Ha," Paul breathed, feeling his neck and face getting hotter and hotter.  
  
"Is everything alright?" John shut the door and frowned at Paul. "Do I have grease on me nose?"  
  
"G-George," Paul muttered, pushing himself away from the wall. "Gave me a scare. Talked about dildos."  
  
"I see," John sighed and started taking off his scarf. He kicked his shoes away and threw the scarf on top of a shelf. "He does that."  
  
"I know," Paul swallowed and closed his eyes-  
  
_-John holding his legs, gasping with each thrust, the feeling sending Paul into a desperate state where he just writhes and cries and begs for more, and it is so much better than any sex with anyone, because he loves John, and this is his love, inside him, and they are one, and it is so good, and at this moment the whole world is-_  
  
"Alright!!" Paul shouted, making John jump and pull the zipper of his jacket down so fast that it almost broke at the end. Paul breathed hard through his nose, glancing at John with a feverish expression on his face.  
  
"Alright, I am," he started with a breathless voice, "going to. The Bathroom. Right now. And when. I get back," he shudders, "I will find you. Naked. On the bed."  
  
He didn't wait to hear anything from John, but dashed away and closed himself into the bathroom, wiping his face and groaning silently at the images in his head. He needed John so bad! It was like the birthday party all over again; that maddening desire that he had inside, that whirled in his body and made him jerk every now and then. He just had to _calm down_ and think about _something else_. He hoped regular sex (not anal!!!! he screamed at himself) would push down the strongest want to just shout 'fuck me dead' at John.  
  
John stood in the hallway, his jacket still on, hands holding the opened zipper.  
  
"What," he stated and blinked, his mind numb and brain frozen. "What."  
  
A pause and he frowned, looking at George's mum slowly.  
  
" _What_."

***~**~***

Paul stopped in front of Jeff's shop, staring at the door for a while. He was still, despite everything that had happened in Liverpool, wary about meeting Stuart. What if he found the two of them giggling over something that John would have before shared only with Paul? What if John gave Stuart that look that was normally reserved for Paul? What if he found them from the backroom, kis-  
  
He shook his head, preventing himself of going there. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to lose himself to the jealous monster that he associated with the mention of Cynthia in these days. He would see John's new friend and he would make a good impression of himself _and_ he would stand it if Stuart said something and John laughed! He was John's boyfriend, for God's sake, there was a reason why John was with him!  
  
A part of his brain said with a fearful voice that John had stayed with Cynthia for years even if he had been unhappy. Even if he had already fallen for Paul. Who said he wouldn't do it again?  
  
He smacked himself on the cheek and shook himself. He _wasn't_ going to think like this! He was going to show Stuart, who the main person in John's life was!  
  
He pushed the door open with a deep breath and blinked when the smell of wood, metal, leather hit his nose, bringing his dad's ever-so-clean garage into his mind. But the smell also reminded him of John, when the man came home after a long day at work, pressing himself against Paul with a tired sigh, his fingers sometimes smelling of grease. It was a smell Paul had come to love, and now that it wrapped around him and covered him in itself, it felt like he had _John_ hugging him, and oh, how it made him feel _safe_.  
  
"Hello?" he called to the empty looking shop, looking around him and somehow expecting Jeff to jump from behind any shelf and shout 'IT IS HIM' before throwing him a million dildos. George had said that Jeff might just do that. He _knew_ that Jeff wasn't supposed to be around today and that was why John had suggested Paul's coming in the first place.  
  
It felt like it had been ages since the conversation with Mimi, when in reality it had been just three days. Paul's mind had certainly got fuller and more _occupied_ since Saturday. He could now barely go on for an hour without thinking about words 'sex', 'John' and 'want'. It was becoming a slow mantra that he repeated to himself without really noticing it.  
  
"Hello!"  
  
"Sex!" he gasped and then gaped in front of him with a horrified expression. No. He had to stop thinking about it.  
  
"Uh," the voice that had previously been full of careful excitement now sounded slightly put off, but amused nonetheless. "Okay? That is a good point."  
  
"I mean," Paul breathed and now looked at the man standing next to him, taking in his Elvis hair and stylish, thin beard that covered his chin. "I was... I was thinking about... I meant... I wasn't going to..." he ended up looking like the world would fall on him any moment and the man snorted, stopping a laugh.  
  
"I can see why John likes you. You are Paul, right?"  
  
"Y-yeah," Paul whispered, not really trusting his voice and knowing that his face was flaming red. Of all the embarrassing situations he had ever been in, this topped most of them. Even the one when he had forgotten to take clean clothes into the bathroom with him and had to sneak butt-naked into their room, getting caught by all of the other three men living in the flat. George had whistled and started reaching for his iPhone, muttering about 'research' and 'inspiration', Ringo had burst out laughing and given him thumbs up and John had just stared at a _certain place_ with a small, possessive glint in his eyes.  
  
"Nice to meet you," the man continued, now perfectly at ease. "I'm Stuart, but you can call me Stu." He offered his hand and Paul shook it numbly, his thoughts frozen and horror still visible in his eyes.  
  
"Yeah," he repeated and Stuart grinned, his face opening and friendliness pouring out of him in waves. Paul felt somehow bad at thinking badly of him, but then mentally shook himself. He couldn't trust this man, even if he seemed very nice and... like he would break if one sneezed towards him.  
  
He smiled at John's accurate description and Stuart probably thought that the smile was meant for him as his own widened.  
  
"John's in the back, it's quiet at this time of the day and he's taking advantage on it, trying to eat and build a replica of his Nokia phone at the same time," he said and turned, pointing at the back of the shop where there was a closed door.  
  
"He mentioned that he's got that kinda project, yeah," Paul muttered and looked around him, his eyes drifting on Stuart way too often.  
  
"D'you want to see him now?" Stuart asked and raised his eyebrows. Paul blinked and met the man's eyes. The lad was looking at him with previous excitement and enthusiasm. He somehow seemed out of place in a shop full of components, wires and other electronic equipment.  
  
"Yes," Paul let out a huge breath, "yes please."  
  
"No greater fun than disturbing his peace, ey?" Stuart's eyes twinkled and Paul had a fleeting thought that had the situation been different, this man could well become his friend.  
  
Well. He just had to hope that the situation _was_ different.  
  
"John!" Stuart was calling as he walked towards the door, Paul following sheepishly behind. He didn't know what to _think_. Stuart didn't seem John's type.  
  
Then again, had Paul seemed his type before he had actually started liking him? No, if John had a type it was a woman with thin waist, large hips, blonde hair and big tits. That was John's type. And then Paul had come and crushed it to the ground with his brown hair and manly parts.  
  
The door opened and John's head appeared between it and the wall. His nose had something oily on it and Paul almost smiled fondly before stopping himself. He'd see how John reacted, first.  
  
"Yeah? Problems?" John raised his eyebrows and his eyes swept past Stuart, landing on Paul.  
  
"The worst kind," Stuart grinned and sat behind a cash register, leaning on the table and taking out a tablet.  
  
"Paul!" John let out a happy, triumphant whoop and jumped forwards, coming towards Paul like a puppy that hadn't seen their owner in three days. "You came!"  
  
"I promised, didn't I?" Paul raised his eyebrows and now let a smile melt his facial expression, cherishing the kiss that John gave him as he arrived.  
  
"You did," John mumbled against his lips and Paul snorted, pushing him a bit farther away.  
  
"You got grease on your nose," he informed and John nodded.  
  
"I know, put it there myself. I was doing this phone project..." he trailed off and looked back at Stuart, who was very much trying not to pay attention to them.  
  
"You met Stuart?" the mechanic then asked and a smile started spreading on his lips. Paul tried to ignore that happy expression and nodded, his neck getting hotter.  
  
"Yeah," he answered and Stuart started laughing quietly. John's eyes widened.  
  
"What happened?" he spun around now to wholly meet Stuart, but before long turned back to Paul, looking at him with his face forming a question mark.  
  
"Nothing," Paul answered, "I said nothing."  
  
"What did you say?" John's lips started twitching and there was a knowing look in his eyes now. Paul started blushing.  
  
"Nothing, I told you. Nothing. I'm not George."  
  
John looked at Stuart, who was trying to hold himself together.  
  
"He referred to _sex_???" he sounded astonished and Stuart broke up, placing his tablet quickly on the table as to not drop it.  
  
"I didn't! I didn't!" Paul gasped and John started laughing with Stuart, turning now and placing his hands on Paul's cheeks.  
  
"You're a wonder," he giggled and Paul frowned, knowing well that John probably knew by now what he had said. Their way of communicating was like that.  
  
"I was just thinking about... nothing," he muttered and John tried to suppress his laugh, ending up shaking all over.  
  
"Yeah, sure. Nothing. Like, yesterday was nothing. Especially when you came from the bathroom."  
  
"John!" Paul looked appalled and Stuart crawled away, gasping for breath and telling John to take care of the customers. The door to the backroom shut with a slam and they were left alone in the shop area, John's eyes wet and his left hand holding his stomach.  
  
"Now you chased him away. It'll take him at least half an hour to recover," he said with a humorous expression. Paul pouted.  
  
"He's the one that started laughing."  
  
"You're the one who's thinking about _things_ ," John said affectionaly and poked Paul's side with a very fond look in his eyes. Paul huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Well, you gonna show me the shop or are we gonna stand here till we get old 'n grey?" he raised one eyebrow and saw John following its movements. He raised it even more and John sighed, muttering about 'laws of gravity'.  
  
"Yeah. Come, the cables are this way..."

***~**~***

John was tired. Very tired. Physically.  
  
He looked at Paul who was still sleeping, his face tranquil and hands spread so that he took up half of John's side too. The lad seemed just as tired as John was, but he at last could sleep two hours more.  
  
John knew that something was wrong, because Paul had demanded they have sex _every bloody day_ during this week. It was always desperate, _Paul_ was always desperate and that resulted in heated acts, Paul tearing John's clothes off before the man had properly even got on the bed (there was a reason why they avoided standing on the floor too long, that reason being the monster they were sure lived under the Sea of Clothes). It seemed that Paul was driven by some kind of... huge need to have sex.  
  
And still John felt like Paul hadn't got what he wanted. He would come, he would sigh and there would be a frown on his face, like he was thinking of something that was _missing_.  
  
John had come to the conclusion that their sex was unfulfilling to Paul, but how, he couldn't tell. Paul didn't say a word. No, ever since Monday they had just... moaned together instead of having conversations. The last time they'd spoken a bit was on Tuesday in the shop, and Stuart had been present then. Paul and Stu hadn't talked a lot to each other and John had a feeling that Paul had deliberately avoided any conversation with him. The only thing, actually, was when Paul had seen Stuart's drawing on the tablet and had said that it looked like a sheep. Stuart's answer had been that it was meant to be a sheep. Paul had said that he liked sheep. Stuart agreed. And that was it. Otherwise John had been talking about the shop and how it took all his mighty powers to keep it running, and Paul had listened.  
  
Sometimes, though, his eyes would become glassy, his breath a bit ragged and neck would turn red, and John knew that he was thinking about the night before. And since then, since they'd got home together, everything they'd done together happened under the sheets.  
  
Thus, John was physically very tired. It always took its toll on him, having sex, and when on a normal week you had both sex every evening and left for work at seven o'clock in the morning, _that_ started to cause tiredness. John was exhausted.  
  
Not that he minded, because sex was great, but the fact that he couldn't please Paul enough bothered him. He had thought about asking what the other needed, but he knew better than that. He would never get the answer. Paul knew how to be some quiet sheltered little shit when he wanted to.  
  
This was probably just a continuation for what had went on in Liverpool. John hoped Paul would find the strength in him to face the problem and solve it. But knowing the younger man that wasn't very likely to happen anytime soon.  
  
He pushed the door open and switched the lights off, eyeing at his sleeping boyfriend before sighing and closing the door, starting to make his way into the kitchen. There sure were ups and downs in every relationship, even in one as perfect as theirs. But those problems rarely resulted as _too much sex_.  
  
_'Maybe he's got a fetish I don't know about and he can't say it to me and that's causing all of this,'_ he thought as he passed George's mum and stepped into the kitchen.  
  
George threw a wooden spatula at him.  
  
"George!" he hissed as the spatula hit his face. "Ow!"  
  
"Mornin'!" George said cheerfully and sipped at his morning coffee. "Rise 'n shine!"  
  
"For God's sake," John groaned as quietly as he could and picked up the spatula from the ground. As he straightened his back the youngest of them grinned at him and waved his hand around.  
  
"I find it awfully amusin' when I get to throw spatulas at people," he said nonchalantly and John sighed, making his way over to the fridge.  
  
"Why're you even up so early?" he asked and George shrugged, eyeing at his coffee with a mad glint in his eyes that told he was thinking about dirty homosexual sex.  
  
"Switched my shift with Mark," he then answered and John nodded, taking out the orange juice and starting a mission of finding a clean glass. Sometimes living in a flat with three other dudes was kind of... messy.  
  
For a while there was a comfortable silence where John stood and thought about what was the current cause behind George's cunning and sly face, and George sat and thought about dirty homosexual sex. Then John blinked and leant a bit forward, catching George's eyes with his.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to know what's wrong with Paul?" he asked, voice unsure. George blinked and took another sip of the coffee.  
  
"Nah mate," he shook his head after a while that sure was full of thoughts about dirty things, "I don't. He's been acting weirdly, you say?"  
  
His expression was one of those that John had learnt to associate with 'I know well what is going on but I am planning something bigger and so I won't let you know anything'. John frowned and tilted his head.  
  
"A bit. But don't bother yourself with it."  
  
George's smile said that John wouldn't have to worry. The lad was already bothering himself with it full speed on, with unquestionable devotion and determined mind.  
  
John could just comfort himself that at last this time it was Paul on the other end of George's cruel planning and he would be left out of it.  
  
At least he had to _hope_ so.

***~**~***

Paul stood in front of George and Ringo's room, hand in the air. Just a second ago he had been ready to knock, but now the hesitation had broken in. Was this really necessary? Couldn't he sort out this on his own?  
  
He knew he could. But he just... couldn't. He didn't want to do it.  
  
He knocked, his eyebrow twitching.  
  
"Yeah?" he heard Ringo's voice inside and closed his eyes, hoping that he wasn't interrupting anything. Two weeks now had passed from their trip to Liverpool and Paul had been thinking. Stuff. Lots of stuff. Too much stuff. He was exhausted, because all the sex combined to working and thinking had taken its toll on him. He needed to get his problem out to someone.  
  
This time that someone couldn't be John.  
  
"Could I exchange a word with George?" he called out and a silence followed which Paul imagined was full of hand gestures and head movements.  
  
"Sure," came George's answer and then the door opened, revealing the messy bedroom of the Not-A-Couple-That-Was-A-Couple-Anyway. George (fortunately) had his clothes on and so did Ringo; they had been apparently writing something, if the computers on the bed were anything to go by.  
  
"Alone?" Paul asked, trying to control his heartbeat that was now accelerating noticeably. George nodded, a weird look in his eyes and then he stepped out of the room, closed the door behind him and raised his eyebrows at Paul when they stood in the hallway.  
  
"Where to?" the younger man asked and Paul looked around, panic slowly creeping inside him.  
  
"Erm... the balcony?" he suggested and George nodded again, not saying anything. Paul tried not to start eating his nails but failed. George headed off for the balcony and Paul followed, checking the living room on the way in case John had decided to stay home instead of going to Stuart's place to fix his television..? At least that's what the lad had said. Paul guessed that it'd be more like laughing and eating chips and telling bad jokes about mechanics.  
  
_'Or something else,'_ his evil, cruel mind dubbed before he could stop the thought and he shook his head. _Now_ was _not_ the time.  
  
It was a bit chilly outside but Paul and George both had hoodies on, Paul because he had planned this and George because God knows why. It was George. George leant on the balcony railing, his eyes on the city in front of them and Paul closed the door, making sure for the last time that John was indeed away.  
  
He took a deep breath and turned his head to look at his friend.  
  
George didn't have his eyes on him, but Paul knew that George knew that Paul was having difficulty speaking his mind. They had been friends for so long and flatmates also long enough for them to know when the other had something troubling their mind. Paul couldn't say if George took this seriously; one could never know with him. But Paul _hoped_ that his worries would go through George's porn-strengthened walls.  
  
What worried Paul was that it was, indeed, _porn_ -strengthened.  
  
"I have a problem," he started after deciding that it was better to say it as fast as possible, because now that he had George's attention he would never get away before he had voiced his thoughts.  
  
"Really, now?" George asked, still not turning. Paul narrowed his eyes and snorted.  
  
"Should I speak to Ringo?" he offered and George turned to face him, his eyes holding a challenge.  
  
"Nah," he answered and crossed his arms over his chest, "I'm listenin'."  
  
"Well," Paul said and suddenly it was much more difficult to speak. "I... I, well, I've been having... I'm not sure if... Uh, you see, George, you once _said_... Erm," he finished and looked at George with bright eyes, hoping that the lad had got the idea of what Paul was talking about.  
  
George looked confused and Paul felt a pull of frustration in his chest. John would know already.  
  
He mentally shook his head and cursed himself. He didn't have to think about John _now_. He had to _concentrate_.  
  
"You see," he sighed and started biting his fingernails again, his mind whirling, "some time ago you said something about... people shipping me 'n John."  
  
"Oh," George's eyes widened and his mouth twitched dangerously. Paul was moving on deep waters. "Yeah. The community an' stuff."  
  
"Yeah. Stuff," Paul's breath hitched and he leant his back against the balcony door, looking anywhere but into George's eyes. "Well, I started... It started bothering me. And so I decided to..."  
  
"To take a look?" George's voice was empathic and Paul nodded faintly, feeling his soul leaving him. This was going to be a disaster. Why hadn't he talked with John???  
  
"I did. And I... I found a tag on Tumblr."  
  
George started laughing.  
  
"George!" Paul hissed and the younger lad doubled over, howling and holding his stomach.  
  
"From all the things... all the places you could've gone! Tumblr! And the tag with your names! Oh God, Paul!" George yelled and Paul saw red. He charged forward and before George could do anything had Paul pressed his palm over his friend's mouth.  
  
"Can I go on?" he asked, not so sure if he really wanted to. But he had to get the answer to a question that was burning inside him. He _had_ to. And George was the only one who could help.  
  
"Mmh," George nodded, his eyes looking a bit wet. Paul felt like throwing him down from the balcony.  
  
"I hadn't... expected that much of... visual stimulation," he said instead and George seemed to be on the verge of either crying or laughing himself dead, his body shaking violently. Paul glared at him murderously and let go of him, turning away. The next bit would be easier if he didn't have to face the other man.  
  
"Then I had a dream... of me and John doing... um. Stuff. And I've started thinking about it more. I... I don't know what to do about it. It bothers me," he mumbled and heard George take in a sharp breath. He wrapped his arms around himself and wondered if he would survive this.  
  
"And you're searchin' my aid 'cause..?" George asked and trailed off, leaving Paul space to tell the actual reason. Paul swallowed and shut his eyes tightly. It was now or never.  
  
"I... I've been thinking... a lot, and I-" he took a deep breath, "There's two things I need you to tell me," he turned and held his hand up, meeting George's eyes. They were burning black and George had a smile on his face that wouldn't do any good on the world.  
  
"One," Paul said and lifted one finger up, his voice quivering, "how does anal sex between two males happen and two," he lifted a second one, "is anal sex with John worth trying?"  
  
George's lips widened to a grin that could end the universe all by itself.

 

***~ THE END ~***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what i am finished too. wow.
> 
>  **Will be continued in the Hot Homosexual Tension sometime later. Really, like, _later_**.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated etc etc.!


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